Move, Maele told herself, frozen to the spot, staring at the tribute she'd just killed. She was going to be sick. No - she had had to do it. They all could have been killed. 
It didn't make her feel any better.
Jay told them to move, and Maele wrenched her eyes from the dead boy, joining the girl grabbing everything in sight. She slung another backpack over her shoulder, and started looking for another weapon; there was no way she'd be touching that axe again. Lying amongst a pile of swords, she found a spear. At least that might mean that she could make her next kill from afar. Goddamn, she was already thinking in terms of the "next kill". Stop it!
To distract herself, she asked: "Do we have much water? Should we make that a priority?"