Barrow Fields And under mountains in the moon

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The sight of the dragedan retreating might've riled him in to giving chase on any other day, and Firefly wasn't injured so he could've closed the distance easily enough and put an end to things right there, but he chose not to. Adrenaline was pumping through him; coupled with an immediate frustration due to the fact all of this shit was avoidable — he ripped his attention away from the bloodied path and glared daggers at Caiaphas in time to see her slump against the sand.

Then as he moved to investigate her wounds, he couldn't help but grumble with his surly voice, Fucking stupid move there, Caiaphas. What the fuck— not that it mattered, as she was most likely unconcious. It wasn't a good sign, and neither was all of this blood; soon enough his frustration stagnated, mutated in to a low-grade panic as his anxiety flared.

He was no medic. There was blood everywhere —

Firefly loomed over her and dipped his snout down to the space just after her nose, testing the air for breath, but couldn't be certain of anything; he couldn't call for help (or thought he couldn't) because then they'd be targets —

— but they had to move.

All that he could do now was make her stand. If she couldn't do that on her own, he'd find some way to move her with his own body - pulling, pushing, carrying on his damn back if he had to - but all the while Firefly would be aware of the blood coating the earth. He needed help, he needed — Erzulie, he blurted to himself, shocked that he hadn't thought of her sooner -- he was an idiot, fuck -- I'll get you home, you'll be okay — Fuck.