The sound that escapes Chiyo is more commonly heard in wounded bison. She presses the heels of her hands to her eyes, swings her legs out of bed, and shuffles over to where Rider is sprawled out and bleeding into her favourite carpet. "Sit up, if it's gone through to the other side I need to see how bad it is," she mutters, forcing her eyes open again every time they stick shut. She looks her age like this, a mother of five pushing fifty, no makeup to hide the odd imperfections that the lamplight throws into much too sharp relief.