It was the first thing Anakin noticed as his senses began falling back into place. Pressure was the second. The third, a dull ache, laced itself at random here and there from his head to his boots. He tried to move. Instant white hot pain sent his consciousness reeling into reality once more.
He’d been thrown by the blast a substantial distance. Last ditch presence of mind had caused him to call on the Force to aid his jump away from the source of the explosion, but he hadn’t acted fast enough. He remembered the sound of rending metal, the crack before the roar–then nothing. Now, sprawled flat on the ground, he centered his mind and allowed his body to tell him what was wrong. But first he sat up, coughing and wheezing the air back into his winded lungs.
Concussion–that was a given…and practically a habit these days. Sore wrist. Split lip. One–ouch–make that two cracked ribs. But it was his knee that really radiated distress. Battered and bloody, it was difficult to bend without sizable discomfort. Great, he complained to himself, sucking his lower lip sharply at the protesting limb. All in all…not bad.
“Snips!” he shouted over the constant roar of the dying flames. Reaching out through the Force, he thought he could sense her unsteady presence nearby. But with his head muddled as it was, he had to be sure. Pulling himself up by a large chunk of debris, leaning heavily on his good leg, Anakin surveyed the scene. “Ahsoka!?”
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