"Francis!" Raju goes to his knees beside the darker shape he can see crumpled over the floor, the last of that particular awareness of his body, of the threats, not falling away but narrowing, changing, and as the knife clatters to the wood behind him the last of the fire over it goes out. Raju doesn't notice. He rolls the body — Francis — over, straightening it out enough to hold his hand in front of the mouth, hoping to feel breath.

If one of the wolves had gotten to him, Raju would have noticed. So of course he isn't dead. But when he fell, probably jarring his ribs awfully, he hadn't screamed. And he'd mentioned a headache, hadn't he? If that had meant something worse than just a headache...

"If I could just see," Raju mutters, frustrated, and then raises his voice a little and makes it brisk, patting at Francis' cheek. His other hand grips the man's arm, a little more tightly than he realises. "Francis. Wake up now. There's still too much to do, you can't sleep."