Darerca bit her lip as she rose from the floor. She was shaky and everything hurt, but she managed. "Losing a lot of blood," she informed George as an answer. "D'you kill Padraig?"
Completely businesslike, Darerca went and ripped a sheet up to wrap around her in an attempt to stem the flow of blood. "I can stitch this up if you have the right kind of thread."
Padraig, however, wasn't quite dead. In the room next door he was stirring, though it was unlikely he would be able to do much of anything. It was agony to pull a breath into his uncooperative lungs through his bruised and swollen throat.