“Shake it off.”
His eyes were closed, and he tasted blood and dust. There was cheering, and booing, and various shouts of encouragement and support, mostly for his opponent. But her voice was still in his head, so the spell was still working.
“Shake it off. You still have the knife.”
He sat up, spat. He could hear the Jogor’s meaty growl off to the left, and then behind, circling, stalking. It could leap at any time, from any direction. “I think it’s over.”
“When I say, roll to your left, and hold up the knife where your head was.”