Dylan's legs were shaking.
Now that he was back on his feet, he leaned against the beast's flank, panting, breath short, lungs nearly on fire. His other arm hung limp, dislocated, useless, twitching in painful spasms from the horn still lodged in his shoulder. He didn't even have the strength to grimace.
But he was standing.
He closed his eyes for half a second. Just long enough to remember why he had fought.
Then he dug the fingers of his good hand into the creature's gaping wound, right where he knew it would be. He didn't think about the heat, or the smell, or even the strange, almost viscous sensation of the still-living flesh pulsing beneath his palm. He searched.
He dug deep.
And he found it.
The gem.
There it was, nestled between two broken ribs, still warm, pulsing with a crimson light.
He pulled.
And finally, the gem came free, like a rotten tooth being yanked out.
