The Nox went still a few moments after Casey did. The fire on his hands had extinguished just as it burned through whatever it was that kept it alive. It's heart or whatever, who cares? All Casey knows is that the adrenaline that was keeping him going is completely gone. In it's place is weakness, soreness, exhaustion, and a headache so bad he could barely see, like he's had two straight nights of sleepless hockey practice. Everything hurt, and he flopped backwards to take stock of exactly what "everything" included.

"I think..." he tried to move his leg and grimaced, "...think my leg's busted."

He tried to sit up, but didn't feel quite up to it his second, so he raised himself up on his elbows and tilted his head back to look at Greg upside down. His heart was pounding heavy in his ears. "Might be able to stand if I had a crutch." Of all the times to be without his hockey sticks...but a broken bone isn't anything he hasn't done to himself before. Greg took a pretty bad hit back there.

"Yo, you OK? That thing really walloped you."