A deep, bone-revealing slash ran from his forehead to his chin on his left eye, his eyeball was beyond saving, and his entire left face was frozen into a dark red ice shell, but his right eye was still moving.
He hobbled to Horn's side, dragging a leg with a broken bone, using his left hand to clutch an ice column pried from the ice wall as a crutch, dragging a corpse with his right hand, a collector rookie's corpse.
Ivan gently laid the corpse on the ice surface, then knelt down on one knee, using his still-functioning hand to close the corpse's eyes.
"No longer breathing." Ivan's voice was as hoarse as sandpaper scraping against his throat.
Then noises came from another direction, a slender figure emerged from behind an ice column; it was Ella, the healer, the witch who had been organizing the first aid box before departure.
Her left arm dangled limply by her side, twisting unnaturally below the elbow, broken.
