His name reaches him through a a long tunnel, distorted and far too late. He's weighted down by something too heavy to fight—until a sharp pain brings him gasping back to the surface.
"Dav—"
His name is broken in a sigh of relief, and the continued jostling reminds him of the broken spear buried in his stomach and snap he'd heard somewhere below the knee. He isn't capable of much more than grunting, which is answered by murmured apologies. Her voice is quiet, his understanding hindered by the cloud of pain. He forces his eyes open against the onslaught of agony. He finds himself in the same cavern, corpses and rot crowded too closely around him—but there's a warmth at his back now, banded around his chest. Something slightly cooler pressed to his mouth.
Resentment slices through him.