Wheeling Gull Isle and truth be told, i never was yours

a different voice, this time — several, though he doesn't understand any of it until a feminine voice rises to address him. he stirs again, looking up, blinking unfocused eyes as he tries to see whoever is addressing him. all he sees is blurs of light and color. um... he coughs, shifting, trying to stand. the effort is futile, of course. everything? that's probably not a good answer. he tries again, voice tight with pain and stress. my chest... my leg. my head. that's all, right? i feel — another hacking cough. like i was caught in a stampede.