Porcupine Ridge you only live forever in the lights you make

Cortland's out cold, she can tell. That is a concern: she can't assess him properly until he wakes up, if.. if he wakes up. She does not voice this, or anything really, quiet until Phocion mentions bringing him somewhere. She lifts her head, fixing him with a look. "If we move him we run the risk of aggravating internal injuries we can't see," Poet says, voice firm. He can't be left here, no, but she won't allow him to be touched until she can administer some basic medicines.

Her stern expression softens at Phocion's clear worry. He must care for Cortland dearly, she thinks, glancing down at his small, broken form again. "It's hard to say yet," Poet tells him honestly, "but his breathing seems normal, which is a good sign." Surely there are fractures in his limbs but those are easier to deal with  -- her concern is the ribs, the spine, the internal organs. Pressing gently against his sides yields no obvious signs of trauma; she runs her nose against the length of his spine but can feel no break. Looking up to Phocion, she nods and says, "we can move him slowly, but keep him at ground level for now." Carrying him up a mountain in his condition will definitely make things worse, she feels.