For a moment Rokuro lays still and silent. Entirely limp. If not for the steady rise and fall of his chest, he might pass for dead. After a minute or two (and Link's nudge), his left eye opens slowly. Blinking up at Link and the night sky.

"Mmph." A quiet exhale of pain, sitting up slowly. He isn't bloody or battered on the outside, it's his head that's throbbing. As if the rocket had pierced his skull at the same time as the barriers. The world is spinning and his ears are ringing, but Rokuro's still here thanks to this small, violent blonde man and his pot-lid.

"I am fine." After what is intended to be an affirmative nod, which turns out to be an incredibly bad idea while nursing a splitting head-ache, he turns to one side and throws up onto the grass.