The smoke from the crash billowed around you (Nikolai) as you knelt in the wreckage. In your hands was Fyodor's limp arm, severed at the shoulder in the accident. You heard movement from within the tangled metal and turned to see Fyodor emerge, crawling painfully through the wreck.

Your eyes met, and without words you could see the anguish in Fyodor's gaze. He had lost so much blood already; his survival was a miracle. But the pain in his eyes went deeper than any physical wound. To lose a limb was to lose a part of oneself.