Will's head hung forward, his shoulders heaving as he breathed, noisily and shallowly. Everywhere was pain, up and down. There was certainly bruised or cracked ribs, judging by how much it hurt with every breath, and he couldn't breathe through his nose, which was running blood to mingle with the cuts from his mouth to drip slowly from his lips in long strings.
Why the face? he thought, feeling his eye on one side swelling shut. He had a good face, he liked his face. Robin would never hit the face.
Nottingham was talking to him and Will wasn't fully paying attention, just glad for a reprieve for a moment. "Put me back in, coach," he slurred, blood dripping onto the floor between his feet. Oh, if Evie saw him like this, her poor little heart would break.