He could hear his heart beat.
It pounded in his ears, and with it, pounded an ache as well, echoing about his cranium. While magic was indeed effective, the healer that had attended him had only been able to close up the cut and dull some of the pain, and remove any risk of the concussion getting worse - much of the healing was still left to his body, to him. Fortunately, some light bruising and a bad headache seemed all that was left - it could always be worse, he reminded himself with exasperation.
Strength and coordination had all but left him, he was unable to follow after Korbin, to track down where the boy was. He guessed he wouldn't be attending the boy tomorrow or thereafter to have him check on the very wounds he inflicted - he wouldn't know where to find him (though probably could ask around), and besides, Korbin had bailed on their whole interaction the moment he wasn't bound by some duty to remain.
He managed to get himself home after, to sit in the small but warm cottage, at the kitchen table. He shed some layers, frowning at the blood that stained them, though mostly it stained the last layer, the shirt he still wore. But he was tired, spent, and found himself bending over the table, leaning his head into his hands, idly massaging his temples in an attempt to find some kind of relief from the ache that just wouldn't go away.
It pounded in his ears, and with it, pounded an ache as well, echoing about his cranium. While magic was indeed effective, the healer that had attended him had only been able to close up the cut and dull some of the pain, and remove any risk of the concussion getting worse - much of the healing was still left to his body, to him. Fortunately, some light bruising and a bad headache seemed all that was left - it could always be worse, he reminded himself with exasperation.
Strength and coordination had all but left him, he was unable to follow after Korbin, to track down where the boy was. He guessed he wouldn't be attending the boy tomorrow or thereafter to have him check on the very wounds he inflicted - he wouldn't know where to find him (though probably could ask around), and besides, Korbin had bailed on their whole interaction the moment he wasn't bound by some duty to remain.
He managed to get himself home after, to sit in the small but warm cottage, at the kitchen table. He shed some layers, frowning at the blood that stained them, though mostly it stained the last layer, the shirt he still wore. But he was tired, spent, and found himself bending over the table, leaning his head into his hands, idly massaging his temples in an attempt to find some kind of relief from the ache that just wouldn't go away.
chulane
