Feeling a soft surface underneath him is a small blessing, one his mind only notes off to the side. His entire body is a cavalcade of painful input, every inch, part and organ.

It hurts.
It hurts.

His whimpering becomes a gurgle as his eyes are struggling to open and failing. He heard a voice...

It hurts.
It hurts.
It hurts.

Micolash weakly tosses his head, turning it from looking upwards to sidelong instead. The opposite direction of where Abysa sits and speaks gently. Struggling to remember even how to move, how to control his tortured muscles.

It hurts.