It's dark; strangely so, after the roaring light of the explosion. Darker than the world tends to be - darker than everything but a moonless night, because a flickering orange glow pierces the darkness at odd intervals. Aloy still can't see much, because her eyes won't open - and when they do, she glimpses only shadowy, blurry figures - 

She can hear them more often than she can see them, though.

She is dying! 

(Her throat burns, sharp and throbbing. Her entire body burns, pain racing up and down her spine and throughout everything until she can't tell what hurts, can't tell what's real.)

To take her there is blasphemy! 

(She's being moved, jostled. It isn't pleasant.)

She should be near her mother! 

(She's falling, down down down tumbling beneath the earth, into ruin wonder fear, and there's something behind her in the water, something so much larger than her but she can't see it, only hear it.)

Aloy - I'm so sorry -

(And then the explosion - it echoes strangely. No less real than anything else she's hearing; no less nightmarish than anything else she's feeling.)

Turn your face to the sun, child.