If he'd known that, he would feel immensely guilty. He was counting, out loud, backwards from 30. "Fifteen," he said, his voice getting a little slower as the wolves were being sucked in. He was dying, slowly and he closed his eyes. "Fourteen," he muttered. "Hurry up, dammit, hurry up ... " he sighed. He had managed to get one of his braces off, snapping it and leaving the other hanging. He wrapped them around his wrists, his hands and tied them as tight as he could manage this way. He inhaled, taking a shuttering breath. "Thirt -- " and he lost consciousness again, his body giving a shake and dying.