Awareness came in stages of blinding, suffocating agony. Ivo wasn't sure if he was seeing or hearing anything, or if his fractured mind was hallucinating everything happening around him.
There was the warmth of someone's arms as he was carried, shouted, angry, scared pleas; words he couldn't make sense of but knew meant concern for him.
It was bad; he knew it was bad.
He wasn't sure if he was going to survive it. Worse; he wasn't sure if he wanted to.
How could someone feel so much pain and still live? How could someone want to live when everything was on fire, inside and out.
The heat of his own blood as it seeped out of him sickened him. He could feel it dripping it down his arm, all over his face.
He wondered if there was still anything there.
That thought turned his stomach. He must have made some sound because soft fingers touched him, he was being gentled, with reassuring words.