" When I woke again, I was in darkness.
Fighting my way to awareness, I realized I’d heard sharp voices. Yells echoed back and forth, calling commands to different ridings; from the distance there came the clang and clash of steel.
It’s Bran, I thought, elated and fearful. He’s attacking the camp!
As if in answer, I heard his voice. “Mel! Mel!”
I rolled to my knees, fighting against invisible knives of pain. One more cry of “Mel!” at slightly more of a distance enabled me to gather my courage and stand up.
Diving through the tent flap, I screamed with all my failing strength, “BRAN!” And I clutched at the tent to keep myself from falling full-length on the muddy ground. A light mist bathed my face, making me shiver--a distant part of me acknowledged that in addition to everything else I had a pretty hot fever going.
“Meliara! Mel! Mel!” A number of voices took up the cry, and I realized that all our people must have attacked.
Again I gathered all my strength and started forward. Which was a mistake. My left foot simply refused to carry my weight.
I started to fall, felt hard hands catching one of my arms. My leg jolted--and thank goodness, that finished me. "

― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)