John was still looking somewhat longingly at his old map, charting a course and hoping the other group members would feel comfortable enough to compile their travel plans when a particularly menacing thud sounded behind him. Before he could react, Crom had raced past him and by that alone he knew that something had gone terribly wrong in the fight. His heart rate climbed with fear and expectation as he righted himself and turned around. Adrian lay in the snow and standing away from him was Soah, as expected. Both combatants were bloodied and John's eyes snapped between them in an effort to discern who was hurt worse. The stream of blood issuing from Soah's side seemed to indicate that his was the more perilous situation. He was impressed to see that the young man had managed to land a hit, and worried that it had been with a dagger that, from the looks of the one now thrown into the snow, had sunk deep. Whatever spell of concern or awe held him was broken when the wounded man dropped to one knee, and John rushed forward in response. He had no clue what he was doing but the group needed bodies to get over that mountain, but not corpses. "You should lay down," He suggested to Soah, hesitant to directly approach the man regardless of his state.