“Magic,” he coughed. “Necromancy. I think that’s what Celestia calls it. Blood magic. It’s not evil when you only use your own blood.” He rolled slightly to one side, so they could see the injury there. Deadlight hadn’t been removing the saddlebags, he’d been biting into his own side with his fangs. There was still a steady, throbbing red coming from the wound, though it was shallow. “That took… more than I thought. Won’t be… much use for a few… few hours.”