He withdrew his hand from the tree, splinters lodging in his skin as he painfully uncurled his fingers, stiff from the constant force of impact they were under. His hand was shaking. No, he was shaking as he steadied his wrist with his other hand, noticing it was just as bad. Water dropped on his stained hands, smearing the dried in blood and dirt. He looked up. It wasn't raining. He felt something cold and wet on the side of his face. He rubbed it away, only to discover his own tears.