Lignere, a soldier in Montfleury de Guiche's company, recounts a
They say you see your life flash before your eyes when your life nears its end. That you get one last chance to relive your proudest moments. That was not this time. Forced to watch what were to be the final moments of my best friend’s life, this battle was seared over all other memory. She was down on the ground, sword raised, and exhausted. Surrounded. But when I called her name, you could feel it: a shudder through the mob. They had not known whom they were paid to kill, but they knew the name “Cyrano.” In their hesitation, she forged forward, disarming five at once. Raking one of their rapiers, she ravaged another twenty, all fumbling to keep their footing. Suddenly, the mob was broken, packs of whining wolves racing away, the spare couple staying to fight to keep face only to flee themselves… in a matter of moments, the dust was cleared with sweeping panache. In the end, there were naught but two: myself, and Cyrano.
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