The creature fled down the hallway to the right, the faint squeeze against the hero’s ankle informing him glamour had been woven against him, but the Mirror Knight did not pursue. He halted his steps, for though Christophe himself was not tired in the slightest the same could not be said of all his companions.

Lady Eliade was suffering the worst of it, by his reckoning. Between the wounded leg, the fresh break of her shoulder by one of the Lords of Dwindling Warmth and the exhaustion of continued spellcasting, she was reaching the end of what her body could take.

...

Antoine was keeping pace for now, slightly behind and to the Mirror Knight’s left as was their habit, but he could recognize that his compatriot was quickly headed towards collapse as well.

...

The man Antoine had used the boon to protect was near spent as well, Christophe suspected, though the Adjutant hid it better than most. The orc had to have called on at least two aspects when tangling with the Fair Folk in that last melee, and he was slower on his feet now if you knew what to look for: the Adjutant was simply tall enough that even slowed his stride was quicker than most humans’.

...

Though like him the Adjutant had been blessed with endurance, unlike him the orc was just as deadly on the attack.

- Book 6, Interlude: Threads