Rosinante's life (un-life?) may not be the one at stake in this precise moment, but he's holding his breath just as intensely as the spirit makes its decision, and when it makes the trade and darts off, he just. Lets himself tip backward out of the low squat and lies down on the ground for the moment.

"You all right?" he asks, as he reaches back into the bag for a cigarette. He needs about thirty of these in his mouth right now.