Silvertip Mountain and there's a million things i haven't done

me: I'm gonna catch up
brain: oh look, tag

How long he was out, he did not know; the Mayfair stirred quietly at the sound of Phocion's voice, immediately aware of several things. First, everything hurt. His head most of all, though his leg was a close second. Though, his entire body ached in some way; he felt stiff, bruised all over, and his throat and mouth were dry and sore. For several beats he was still, eyes closed. When he dared crack them open, he instantly regretted it.
Second, it was dark, but even the scant light offered by the moon and stars stabbed at his eyes. He squeezed them shut again the next instant, huffing out a gasp of pain. It hurt— to move, to breathe, to think. Belatedly he took in the scents around him; Phocion's stood out immediately. Cortland opened his mouth, intending to call to his friend, to ask him what had happened— but only a strange, brief, garbled noise escaped him. He could form no words.