[Yuan watches o Duirnín crumple, dazed, and can't even bring himself to be too sorry about it. Only that going home -- inasmuch as it's home -- will be impossible now. Perhaps it wasn't much, but it was his.]

[He's going to miss his plants.]

[Then again, he might not have time to miss much of anything. He casts eyes down at the soldier supporting him -- he knows her, though can't summon her name right off -- and decides that probably losing this much blood is not, in fact, a good sign.]

[The others of his people remaining, at least, show some common sense, and either draw back from the entrance with hands clearly visible and empty or, in some cases, come to him. Someone is stripping off an undyed tunic to press to the wound. Yuan feels peculiarly warm, and can't quite tell if it's the injury or some nebulous emotion.]

[Belatedly, he remembers to let go of the mana.]