Moments before the punch.
The man held Meg pinned against him, his arm tight around her waist, the other hand tangled in her hair. Her struggles were weakening, her breath coming in ragged gasps. He leaned closer, his face inches from hers.
A sound came from the ground behind him. A low groan.
He didn't turn immediately. He kept his gaze locked on Meg's wide, terrified eyes.
Another sound. A shifting of limbs on packed earth.
He glanced back over his shoulder.
Fin pushed himself up onto one knee, then slowly, unsteadily, to his feet. His left arm hung limp at his side, his right hand mangled. Blood dripped from his mouth, smearing his chin. His tunic was torn, scorched.
