Ava held her hands against his throat. She pressed her thumbs in harder. The knight yelled behind her, the other priests squealed, but she could barely hear them. She could only hear the rasp of the murderer in her hands, frantic for breath, and since there was any sound at all she squeezed even more. He twisted and struggled, but she had tripped him and now had her knee on his chest. His struggling started to slow--his skin was a blueish color--his eyes began to glaze over--
Out of the corner of her eye she saw the knight step forward and raise his sword. With a wave of nausea she realized that he was going to swing at her--not the dying thing in her hands--and even if these shadow people weren’t real, she knew their weapons were deadly.
As he dropped his sword she rolled away, darting to the side like a fly escaping a swat. The sword grazed the priest’s side, and Ava allowed herself a smile when he cried out in pain.
But then that wave of nausea returned, more powerful than before--a wrenching in her gut that had nothing to do with remorse--the knight raised his sword again, faster this time, swinging down with such force that even Ava couldn’t spring away in time.
But before he could make contact, she felt the nausea grow into a twisting motion that pulled her upwards. Suddenly she was outside again, blinking in the afternoon sun. The knight was still in front of her, but his sword was sheathed--for now. He glared down at her from his horse.
Time to try again.