Dent tried to follow. He really did. But his legs refused to hold him up, and it was impossible to crawl with one arm. He lay in the dirt, hurting everywhere, trying not to cry.
This was ridiculous. Every move they made was to either protect a brother or sister from Rusty, or to avoid him themselves. He was always at the point of their minds....
...if only he hadn't missed....if only he had the stregnth to stop Rusty, to help Rogue....
If only...He smiled bitterly. Their lives were filled with those, too...
He grunted and tried once more to stand, but again, his knees crumpled. It was unbearable. He was so weak...
He took a deep breath. Somewhere out of the corner of his eye, he saw a long wooden stick, long and thick enough to be a staff.
Drawing another shaky deep breath (that seemed to nearly split him open), he dragged himself to the stick. He could make it just that far...he grabbed it triumphantly, then hoisted himself from the ground, leaning heavily on the staff.
