The impact jolts through him sharply, and cuts into the haze. Out of a brief window of clarity he sees all the people he can think of who might be of aid- in battle, or before, but never after. Never injured, not for the lack of will-- Dorian and Hawke are no healers, Bethany- he couldn't say, but where he might find her to ask he doesn't know. Jowan-- The mirthless laugh on his mind leaves his lips, he can feel the sound in his throat.

--All the others? As far as he knows they could treat the wound no better or worse than he. That will have to be it, then.

"Might still be nearby," he mumbles a half-voiced thought; that the clinic is lit, that its abandonment may only be temporary. That the man should check their surroundings if it could be so.

That energy for clarity must go towards something else, however. His legs don't budge, at first. Only on third try do they move, shakily, and steady enough for Cullen to rise again. Bandages. He ought to find bandages, so he can finally pull this blighted arrow from his side.