Larrin remained unconscious the entire time, and thus was clueless to what was happening to him. his limbs were limp, and easily manipulated to whatever means the girls needed. the lean male was tall! his six foot six inch frame was just a bit too long for the sheet, the heels of his feet hanging over the edge. once the light was cast on him, the girls were in for the shock of their lives. the claws that had torn his flesh made him almost unidentifiable, his facial features torn as they were. a couple of places on his torso his ribcage gleamed beneath the flesh and muscle. his hair color could not be determined from all the blood and debris from the fight in the woods. somehow the man was still breathing, but only Luna knew for how much longer. his life was now measured in minutes, and they were ticking by fast. there was not enough blood in his body for him to bleed, and the blood on his flesh was drying and hardening on his skin. it was impossible to see that he was almost white as a sheet from blood loss.<br/><br/>In Larrin's mind, shielded off from Erin's gifts, he was walking an open field, back in the Highlands. the grass was tall, and red stags ran through. in the distance, he saw a grouping of people, laughing and playing together. he was not wounded, and dressed in the great-style kilts his family preferred, in an off-white Jacobite shire and barefoot. he started running towards the people, recognizing two adults and six children at various ages. as he neared, he realized he knew the people gathered, and he picked up his pace, running faster. his family noticed him, all smiling and waving as he neared. tears streamed down his face, both in his dying mind and in life, as he got closer, calling out to his family....