Redwyne stared up at the ceiling, trying to focus on keeping calm, and trying to regain his breathing. It would no doubt prove fruitless, however. He knew better than to hope in this situation. The venom would close his air pipes, and then it would shut down his entire nervous system, then slowly the rest of his vital organs. Redwyne gasped, silently, trying to grab any sort of air he could, but it was no use. Gareth's scream and yells for help easily filled the entire tower, but there was no sound of footsteps coming to the rescue, not even the knight who had directed Gareth to Redwyne's study. Redwyne knew he was likely to die far before the rest of the venom took effect. He was far too old to survive long with a closed air way. As Redwyne's face was beginning to turn purple, he gripped Gareth's wrist as tight as he could with his diminishing strength. As his final moments came upon him, Redwyne couldn't quite believe this was the way he was to die. He always pictured himself dying for his King in some heroic manner, or at least dying with a sword in his hand. "This is no way for a knight to die." Redwyne thought, as he could only imagine what they would say; Sir Redwyne Cole the Morningstar, participant of over a hundred battles, killed in his old age by a snake no bigger than his palm. Redwyne began to convulse slightly, and his grip on Gareth's wrist withered, as his head jerked for a moment. Then, his entire body was relaxed, entirely still and silent. Redwyne's eyes, seemingly glazed over, still stared up at the ceiling.