"Not dying..." he murmured, "Just studying the insides... of my... eyelids. That's... all..." And he slipped into the darkness. The man seemed to go boneless in the chair and slumped. The blood soaked the cloth his brother was holding to his hand. That was one nasty wound on his hand. As the others tried to wake him, he slumped over even further, his perch upon the chair precarious. He looked ashen by that point, and it wasn't from looking at the blood this time, it was just that he was bleeding like the very devil had stabbed his hand.