[For a small eternity, it is just the ebb and flow of waves; what feels like waves, at least, moving him up and down. The sun is too bright and he eventually has to shut his eyes against it. He's quite sure someone is talking to him, and he responds, but he has no idea if they're even words or quiet mumbles.
It isn't just the blood loss. This is too much just for his arm. Isn't it? He drifts again.
It is a sharp exclamation that wakes him again, but the voice is honey, a sweetness he recognizes. He opens his eyes, crusted with sand still, attempting to lift his arm but moving not a bit.]
This. [One word. He made it. Yet it felt like a monumental task just getting that out. He's exhausted. Beyond exhausted. He may be dead already? Which is unfortunate.] Really. Hurts.
[And he's out again. The small reserve he'd stocked away of any sort of energy is gone.]
no subject
It isn't just the blood loss. This is too much just for his arm. Isn't it? He drifts again.
It is a sharp exclamation that wakes him again, but the voice is honey, a sweetness he recognizes. He opens his eyes, crusted with sand still, attempting to lift his arm but moving not a bit.]
This. [One word. He made it. Yet it felt like a monumental task just getting that out. He's exhausted. Beyond exhausted. He may be dead already? Which is unfortunate.] Really. Hurts.
[And he's out again. The small reserve he'd stocked away of any sort of energy is gone.]