Swiftcurrent Creek divinity's mirror

At least, he thought, I'm not sad anymore. No, he was too frazzled; Panacea the Nearly-Trampled. For a moment he could do nothing but sit back and breathe. Or... several moments, maybe?

His racing heart refused to slow.

Perhaps he might have said something then, a stammered apology or a request for just a few minutes to catch my breath — but his head felt light and strangely abuzz, his throat felt dry and sticky, his lungs felt starved for air. Panacea closed his eyes, half-convinced he was dying. Scared to death? It would be a fitting end.