my noise feels lumpy and half-battered but it still rises with the memory of davy prentiss 's gun pointed at us , of her falling into my arms , of her bleeding and gasping- and then i make it go even redder with the feel of my own fist landing on davy prentiss 's face , of davy prentiss falling from his horse , his foot caught in the stirrup , dragged away like so much trash .