With what dignity he had left, Valen pushed himself to his feet - his shirt barely fell over his rump and privy parts but he hardly cared - and the cramps in his legs almost floored him, so he paused and swore before continuing on. It wasn't much more than a shuffle, tentative steps carried him and he lost motivation every few feet, sagging against the walls to catch his breath and snarl out his misery. He'd not wept since he was a child out of the nursery, lest he was drunk, and he would not do so now. Not yet anyway, as the pain would not cease for a few days in all likelihood. Gods, he couldn't do this.
An eternity later, Michael and Valen stepped through the doors and into the night air, and Valen dragged open his eyes and immediately flinched away when the flashing rushlights hit his eyes. It seared them, blinding him and he jerked away instinctively to hide, his leg twisted, the wound in his thigh throbbing a thousand times worse and unable to support his erratic movements. He went down in a heap of limbs and cursed.