[There's an unconscious, winged form lying in pool of blood and mud a ways away from the forest stage. He's more or less in one piece -- no more severed limbs! -- but he's definitely not looking good. Slowly, he picks himself upon to his hands and knees, using his sword for leverage. One of his wings has been mangled into a loosely-hanging mess of
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[staggers to his feet unsteadily, wincing and swearing under his breath.]
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You look like shit, kid.
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Oof. Gee, thanks. Anyone get the number on that wolf?
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