Breathing in general is good advice. Donnie's still deliberating over the suggestion to retreat as he tries to remember how to breathe. One would have thought it impossible for him to look any greener, or maybe he just looks a touch pale as yet another guard falls at Nephenee's hands.

Normally, normally? He's pretty good at shoving feelings in a corner, into a box, under a rug. But there's a lot here to deal with, more than he knows what to do with. He wishes he could be like Nephenee, just do the job and don't think about it- she's clearly seen her share of battles and doesn't bat an eye at a bit of gore.

His fingers hurt from grasping his staff so tightly as he pries one hand away to press a near white knuckle to his mouth. He can't be here. He can't run away but he can't...not this.

He still feels terrible about it and he's not even sure how to sort out any of what he's feeling right now. But ignoring it isn't going to happen if he keeps seeing so much blood. The breath he sucks in is a ragged one, his nod too stiff and he's not even sure as to what that he's acknowledging- all of the above, maybe? Apologizing? Probably that too.

And then he's turning to shadow some of the prisoners. He can keep other guards off their backs at least.