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He turns as she slides into unconsciousness. "KayLisa!" The sight is enough to claim his full attention and his face takes on an expression of concern. He moves quickly -- her pallor worries him. Relieved that she is still breathing, however slowly, he removes his gloves and gently touches her cheek. "It seems as if the very heat has been drained from her body," he thinks.
Looking down at her still form he is unsure of what to do. "Dammit, I'm no good at this," he hisses. He lifts her slightly, and cradling her in his arms looks to the sky and whispers her name to the Maker of the tented heavens. He turns his eyes to her again seeking a clue to the nature of her condition.
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One does not control the Wind.
One enters it, feels its freedom. And moves.
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