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Lawrence was still slouched on the ground, his head resting in his hands. He felt dizzy all of a sudden, and noticed after some minutes that he was shaking. Could he be in shock? Possibly. Heaven knows he'd been through enough to warrant that kind of reaction. He raised his head, and held his fingers before his face, watching as they twitched erratically. He didn't immediately register the other boy-- Kylar, the one who thought he was in charge of this whole escapade-- when he climbed the hill to see what the fire-crew was doing. What had he said, help the wounded? Did he assume that because Lawrence was sitting down and apparently not suffering from a serious injury that he had nothing better to do?

He breathed a heavy sigh, then struggled to rise to his feet. He had to go back down there anyway, his throat was parched and his tongue was dry and felt like sandpaper in his mouth. Water... He tried to speak but his voice seemed to be suddenly incapacitated. What was…

Before he could deduce what seemed to be happening, dark spots appeared in his field of vision. He shook his head, but they did not clear up and he stumbled off keel, made a wild grasp at Kylar's arm which was the nearest thing too him in a desperate attempt to stay on his feet. It was all in vain, for the darkness closed in on him, and he tumbled to the ground, unconscious. Already fair skin turned deathly white. Perhaps the impact of the crash had damaged him more than he'd previously believed.