The hysterical laughter, and the pained gasp that cut it off, was alarming. Father O'Reilly moved closer to the bed, without any clear thought of what he would do to help. Pat Solomon on the shoulder and go 'there, there?'

It was the first time he truly felt as though any comfort he could give would be nothing but hollow and empty words.

It helped when Solomon began speaking again, even with a mild sort of hovering insanity at the edge of his words. It was heartening to see that the sorcerer wasn't too far gone just yet - that he could be stabbed through the knee, and still find enough hope to form coherent sentences and to laugh, frightening though the laughter had been. Father O'Reilly listened silently as his gaze dropped slowly down to the teddy bear nestling in the crook of Solomon's elbow.

He blinked. "The same person who left you this?"

Thank God there had been someone there. Father O'Reilly just hoped that same person would have the presence of mind to come back tonight. Security in the recovery ward at night wasn't too strong, and it certainly wasn't designed for anyone who had magical phenomena at their disposal. Let alone Necromancy.