Dias was vaguely aware that there was quite a lot of blood - and, further, that this was why his thoughts, and eyesight, were going hazy so quickly. He remembered that from when the bandits had attacked them; he'd scarcely been able to believe how much blood there was. He'd killed people since then, but somehow it had never been as shocking when it was the blood of people that he wanted dead...

"You'd rather have killed me fair and square?" he muttered; not even his fading consciousness could make him unaware of Claude's having yanked him upright, or the boy's shaking and yelling. "No one to blame but yourself? Don't know if I could have beaten you if I'd wanted to." What was there that needed to be said? He could think of only two truly important pieces of information he wanted to waste what breath he had left on. "You've gotten strong." That was one; the other, fortunately, was even simpler. "Sorry."