If he'd been on solid stone, he'd have been able to get out of the way in time. But the sand was treacherous and he was too slow, and the spear caught him hard in the upper chest, the tip cutting between ribs and lodging there. His cry turned into a painful, hacking cough, the taste of blood rising sharp in his mouth, and he tried to turn, to run for the trees. "Stop!" he wheezed, a bad, wet sound to his breath. "Not- danger!"