She was still alive; I could feel the tremor of her flesh under my hands. But so much was lost—so much blood, so much trauma, so much shock—that I knew she’d lose her grip soon. And with that realization, I made the shift. I couldn’t heal her. All I could do now was stay with her and try to ease her.

She was making a soft coughing noise, and bubbles of blood appeared at the visible corner of her mouth. One hand rose in the air, searching vainly for something to hold on to. Roger ran across the grass, fell to his knees on the other side of her body, and grasped the drifting hand.

“Amy,” he said, short of breath. “Amy. Bobby’s coming; I hear him, he’s almost here.”

Her eyelid lifted, shivered shut against the light, opened cautiously, just a crack.

“Mammaidh!” “Mama! Mam!” The shrieks of her children came thin and piercing and her ruined mouth twitched and fell open, struggling to answer them.

“Stay with me, Orrie. Aidan—Aidan, no!” Bree was kneeling on the grass, clutching Aidan by the wrist as he fought to go to his mother, little Orrie terrified, clinging to Bree’s hunting shirt.

The blood wasn’t spurting anymore; it was spreading, fast and silent, soaking the ground. My hands were red to the wrist.

“Amy! Amy!”

Bobby, wild-eyed, charging up the slope, Jamie behind him. He stumbled and half-fell to his knees, chest heaving for air. Roger grabbed his hand and put Amy’s in it.

“No,” Bobby said, fighting for breath. “No. Amy, don’t, please don’t go, please!” I saw her fingers twitch, move, tighten on his for an instant, no more.

“Jesus,” Roger said. “Oh, God.” He looked at me for a moment and read everything in my face. He lifted his head and looked across to Bree and the children, and I saw his face change in sudden decision.

“Bring them,” he said, raising his voice enough to be heard over the crying and shouting. “Quick.”

Brianna shook her head briefly, her eyes fixed on the ruin of Amy’s face. Should the boys remember their mother like that?

“Bring them,” Roger said, louder. “Now.”

She gave a small jerky nod and let go of Aidan, who dashed to his mother and fell on the ground beside Bobby, clinging to him and sobbing. Bree came after him, holding Orrie and Rob by their hands, tears sheeting all their faces.

Roger took the little boys, held them in his arms, close to their mother.

“Amy,” he said, through the sobbing. “Your sons are with you. And Bobby.” He hesitated, looking at me, but at my nod let go of Orrie and laid his hand gently on her chest. “Lord God, be merciful unto us,” he whispered. “Be merciful. Hold her in the palm of Thy hand. Keep her always in the hearts of her children.”