Cerulean Cape dig a hole and bury all the memories we've made

Samaantine took her brother's words quietly; no retort came to her, but something bitter rose in her throat. She wished she could snap-- that she could take him by the scruff and force him to have a different response. Anything else, because right now she was too tired for this. For him. But she needed him, didn't she? Or at least, she had to treat it that way if there was any hope.
The shadow couldn't have known Samothes' thoughts, but the same situation he envisioned had crossed her mind as well. And of course, he couldn't know how wrong he was in his assumption. He was lucky, she thought, that their roles were not reversed; given the opportunity, Samaantine would not hesitate to take what was hers in any situation. Their shared blood, their shared womb made him hers from conception, in her eyes. She would not have let him die, no-- but perhaps he would have wished it so.
Tine drew in a breath when her brother moved as if he might leave, tensing a little in preparation for the final blow. Of course he would leave her to die-- would not even keep her company at her end. She should have expected-- the shadow blinked once, then twice when he spoke. She looked away after a moment, determined not to let her surprise show any more than it had already. A few beats passed before she found her voice, buried under the thick, unidentifiable emotion that had risen within her at Samothes' question.
I can walk. It was barely more than a whisper, but with that the shadowy girl lifted herself agonizingly from the ground. Exhaustion weighed her steps, and the dull ache of her wounds clouded her mind, but she held herself as steadily as she could. For perhaps the first time, there was no pride in her posture-- surely it would be back. But right now, she was just too tired.