Harland watched Vol take several steps forward, and he did so with eyes that were far too moist for battle. His legs felt weak. His arms felt weak. Damn it, his whole body felt weak. He was exhausted. The reckless adrenaline that had come in surges over the course of the day had drained him dry, and squeezed his tired body for more energy than it was worth, and now when it mattered, the adrenaline all but left him, replacing itself with only fear.
How was it that a boy stood forward when he could not? A part of him bit at himself for that, and he scolded himself. Harland was far older. He should have been the one taking command. Or maybe Borne… That foreigner seemed strong, but damn, no, he could hardly string a sentence together with that thick foreign tongue of his.
