Artie had raced on ahead, figuring that Charles could do for himself. He likes Charles, he did, but there was a downed man. Artie tried to see him on the cross again, but he..wasn't there. Glancing around, he saw the woman with him on the ground. The ground wasn't a good place for him to be, was it? From what Artie had seen, though, he wasn't sure that the additional cold would do him much harm.
A grim thought, yes, but one he couldn't help but consider. Acting on instinct, he checked for a pulse - first on right wrist and then on the neck. He looked over his shoulder at Charles, a frown touching the corners of his mouth, but now wasn't the time to think on that either. They had a healer that had come back from the dead, why couldn't this guy?
Artie moved to the upper part of the man's body, trying to be as gentle as possible. The remaining would scraped the arms of his jacket, but he tried to close his ears to it. Hands moved over, fingers curving over Jarrod's biceps, close to the shoulder. Dropping him wouldn't be a good thing, but he'd carried dead weight before.
But this was different. All the death that Artie had seen in his travels was either from old age or disease. This was a brutal killing, and he knew that animals couldn't have nailed him up there, but whoever had done it were beasts. He clacked his teeth together to get Laurel's attention, unsure if she was even capable of helping them. He slid the body an inch, waiting for her to pick up the legs.