The form of the sable outsider was sprawled, bleeding, torn in places. If Kaena had missed the slight rise and fall of the woman's chest, she might have thought Lucia was dead. The coppery smell of blood was too thick in the air for the scarred Centurion to scent a culprit; but such things were not quite so important now. She had to help Lucia first—later she could punish the wrongdoers responsible for this. Stepping forward, the coyote leaned in, whispering the other woman's name with increasing volume. “Lucia. Lucia? Lucia!”
At long last, there was a stirring from the sable woman, her eyelids fluttering back to expose eyes an unearthly shade of toxic green. She was disoriented and beat to shit, but already the wolf inquired about the Centurion. “Don't worry about me,” she said, sounding far more gruff than she had intended. The scarred coyote smiled faintly in apology for her momentary sharpness. “We'll take care of you first before we worry about me,” she added, trying to comfort the woman with kind words and gestures. The last thing either of them needed was for Lucia to struggle or fight; this looked quite bad as it was, and the scarred woman did not want the situation to escalate any further.
“Can you move? Walk?” the hybrid asked. “Don't try yet, just answer,” the coyote added quickly, not wanting for Lucia to try to move too quickly. Her single eye roved over the outsider's injuries once again, wondering who might have done such a thing.
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