Darkness held its grip on Arden's awareness for some time. The fight had torn more than skin - once-fine clothes were tattered where impish teeth had torn them, leaving the angel in little more than rags. With his skin as pale as milk, when Arden's eyes finally opened, their murky green depths seemed the only spots of colour, save for the crimson smeared and spattered on the remains of his garments. The least of the wounds were already healing, if slowly - few creatures could truly harm the children of the Light - their only true equals were the children of the Dark, after all. There were ways to quicken it, of course. Had not Arden himself once taught Eris the secrets of those rare herbs?<br/><br/>Blood loss told on even angels - Arden blinked and groaned, one arm shifting as if to push himself up, but the motion went uncompleted. Even words required more strength, and Arden fell back again, closing his eyes. The fine brow furrowed, but the angel remained still, only the slight motion of his chest to tell that he was even still breathing.