Ylva had looked over when she'd seen the car, noted the amaranths with a terrible and bittersweet pang, and then was somehow running as best as she could through the crowd without even consciously making that choice.

She drops down on her knees and presses her face close, looking for signs of life. Her eyes are brimming with tears. "Erin? Erin please, can you hear me?"

If she's hurt? Well, Ylva's already digging desperately in the bag slung around her shoulders. She can do things about that.