Nissa - Root Ladder

"Chandra, let me." Nissa, breathless at my back.

She shouldn't be here. Shouldn't see me like this.

A massive root lifts from the ground in front of us, stretching up to the roof. The thopter settles ahead there, cackling.

I scramble up, cold dirt caking my burning fingers, boots sliding on damp wood. Raw fingers claw the edge of the roof, leaving bloody prints.

***

BURN