i'm not a saint

Eithne could have fought back. Hell, maybe she should have, but she didn't quite have the desire to do so. This was penance - divine retribution - and she was ready to answer for her sins. She didn't resist, but she also didn't show fear. If anything, she showed acceptance. It didn't take long for black dots to dance across her vision, and it took even less time for her consciousness to ebb away. Once she was almost out cold, what little resistance she'd offered dissipated and she went as limp as an empty sack.

Her breathing was shallow and, in the far reaches of her mind, she recognized her heartbeat quicken in the confines of her chest. That wasn't fear, either, though. It was akin to a renewed desire to live. New life had somehow been breathed into her in the few moments she'd been unconscious. In her unconscious state, she'd made up her mind to help the half-elf out of the predicament he was only in because of her. If only his quick feet had carried him far away from all this... then - and only then - could she have accepted a merciful death. With her mind made up, her unconscious self decided to bide her time until consciousness was more restored to her.