There's a haze to his senses, too little blood loss despite what the mess will look otherwise to be that. A chill, and that could be accredited to the air being brushed down from the western mountains, though certainly more than just an external source.

But for the shock that's ringing in his ears, the dark that blankets over as the figure beyond the wolf piles above them both, Tidus feels when the teeth unclench from around his elbow enough to bring his arm down. Stuck however in what to do then, how to move; the thought of a spell slipping away as the panic between his ears grows louder.

Is he going to die? He doesn't want to die, he never wanted to die-

It's a repeating intrusion flooding him, frozen, the pulsing pain of his wound dimmer in comparison.