Smethmyck looked at the woman. She seemed to care for the man, it was a shame that she would have to lose him. These things were always worse for the persons who cared.
'Why don't you take a seat,' he offered, pulling up a chair closer to the bed. He waited, not speaking until she sat down, then sat in a chair of his own before doing so.
'Your friend was hit with a blasting curse at close range, we think he was probably held under the Crucatius just before then, but that is hard to tell.' He paused, making sure she understood what he was saying. 'The damage is in his internal organs, a blasting curse, that close would kill most people instantly, yet your friend seems to be a strong man.'
Not that he was any better off because of it, it only made dying a slower - more painful - process.
'When he arrived here he was in very bad shape. We've done everything we can to heal him, but...' he paused before going on. This was always the hard part. 'I would be very surprised if he made it through the night. I'm sorry, but his injuries were terribly severe.'
He let his words sink in, then looked at his papers again. 'Does he have any relatives we should contact?' he asked softly. 'Anyone who would like to say goodbye?'