I heard him, just barely, calling from amid a pile of the dead. His legs were gone, his arms in tatters, and he had not even the strength to open his eyes.
Clutching the trembling remains of a hand, I leaned in close. There was nothing to be done but provide a little comfort and carry on the final words of this dying warrior.
They came slowly, the words, raspy and desiccated between woeful moans.
“We have dealt a terrible blow, but … there is …” — whispers now — “another … crystal shard.”
And then death took him, and it would soon claim our world as well, unless someone among us could find the shard and restore THE DARK CRYSTAL.