The sound that followed was not like the sounds of the battle before it.
The battle before had been loud — steel on steel, shouting, the organized chaos of men who believed themselves to be winning pressing their advantage against men trying to hold a collapsing line. It had the texture of violence that was still negotiating its outcome.
What followed Nathan's arrival had a different texture entirely.
The man who had held the Princess's arm took a moment to understand what had happened. He stood there in the road's dust, still in the posture of someone gripping something, and looked at the place where his hand had been. Then he looked down at where his hand now was — on the ground, fingers still curled around the pale wrist it had been holding, the pink-haired woman already recoiling away from the thing that had released her.
Then the pain arrived.
"GYARGHHH—!!"
