[There's always a grand sense of accomplishment after felling such a creature; Ornstein feels it rise in his chest as he looks over the fallen drake, blood still eking from its multiple wounds. But this emotion is distracted, quelled even, when he hears the words of his companion. Strained with injury, as he's heard from many before in his time. He knows it for what it is.
He doesn't retrieve his spear just yet. It certainly isn't going anywhere, and instead he turns Arthur and walks over, his lips pressed into a visible frown. The question is completely ignored.]
You are bleeding. [The red is visible through his clothes, even more vivid on his fingers.] How bad is the wound?
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He doesn't retrieve his spear just yet. It certainly isn't going anywhere, and instead he turns Arthur and walks over, his lips pressed into a visible frown. The question is completely ignored.]
You are bleeding. [The red is visible through his clothes, even more vivid on his fingers.] How bad is the wound?