When the Ostland mercenary hit the ground, he'd been knocked into unconsciousness for many minutes. He knew nothing but darkness, and for all he knew he could already be dead. But then he felt an ache. And moisture along his face, and a soothing voice drifting into his ears. The young man opened his eyes, the floor underneath him as unforgiving as his wounds. He felt stabbing pain and aches every time he even testing shifting. 

"I'm glad you're alive," he murmured, still looking terribly out of it. He must have been dreaming, he told himself. Surely no one could have survived the Chaos onslaught and the Dragon. Not he, nor Camilla. This must have been the realm of Morr, he thought to himself, until the pain in his body stung him yet again. He didn't think he'd have kept the same broken form in the underworld. Which meant he must be in one of the cellars... 

He coughed, actually trying to laugh in disbelief at their surviving. The mirth was good. It woke him up a bit more, and he realized after collecting his thoughts, Camilla had been taking care of him. The sergeant reached up, and took her hand in his, before kissing it. "Thanks," he told her. The warmth in his eyes spoke volumes, before he gritted his teeth and did his best to sit up. 

"Sigmar," he groaned, realizing he must have had several broken bones. A rib, perhaps an arm, and possibly a hip. 

Still, he wasn't about to leave his partner without help. They were a team after all, if not more. He wasn't quite sure. But then again, they hadn't had the time to talk about it. He opened one eye as he sat up fully, and saw the predicament they were in. "Figures," he grunted. "Are you alright?"
[@Penny]