Sleeping Dragon death doesn't descriminate between the sinners and the saints

Cirrus balked internally – he didn’t remember declining attention! Perhaps his penchant to shrink back from the situation had caused that impression. Now that he was a prisoner and had no chance of getting out, he had no intention of being left broken and battered when help was offered. Pride was a stupid emotion when you were in pain and helpless. Heda’s admission that he was to have no pain medication shot through his nerves and a soft, slow whine escaped him. He was quite sure he would prove useless. He could not do anything with a broken leg. Perhaps he should just make a break for it, and let them shred him now instead.
 
The thought was appealing. If his leg didn’t hurt so badly, he might have attempted it. But he knew he was a coward, and he knew he had no chance of even attempting to run on three legs.
 
He was given a talking to by the other female that looked like a leader. Cirrus’s liquid  brown eyes wavered on her form, accepting her words with resignation and a face masked only with pain and fear.