Bormont just raised an eye at Magorrath’s instructions, for he certainly was not digging graves for the dozens of corpses. He watched as the hunter ran off into the forest to join his companion in their rescue of the other lady and just shrugged dismissively as he kicked at the sand. He looked around and felt his spirits drop at the sheer number of the dead, even in the Brotherhood he hadn’t seen so many. It was a field of corpses and he closed his eyes to murmur a prayer. It’d been hard during the frenzy of the day’s activities to actually take things in, but now that he got a good look at his fellow men and women, he felt a deep sorrow. If the three of them were truly the only survivors, the only word to describe such a scene would be tragedy.
His closed eyes were broken by the rough intake of breath and Bormont snapped to, whipping his head around. His eyes quickly came to rest on a lady not too far from him and as he noticed that, yes she was indeed still alive, he wasted no time. His feet kicked up sand as he ran over to the breathing corpse. Even without taking her wounds into account, she looked and sounded to be in horrible shape. He knelt at her side and tried to carefully flip her around, though even moving her as softly as he could it seemed every movement just caused her pain.
Bormont grimaced when he saw what had been done to her body. It’d been butchered, so much so that even her clothes did nothing to hide the scars. His hands subconsciously reached up towards his own scars and he shivered a bit at the uncanny resemblance. Her state is pitiful and her very attempts to speak cause his heart to lurch with both sorrow and a seething rage. He bit his lips as he gave the woman another look over and quickly realized that she was beyond saving. Her injuries were simply too great and in the middle of nowhere there was no way she’d get the medical attention to save her life, if such a thing was still possible at this point.
His hands trembled as he unsheathed the dagger from his thigh, twirling the small blade so he held it in an underhand grip. He was leaned over the lady so his movements were hidden from her and he brushed the hair from her once and still pretty face. His eyes were moist and he shook as he nodded slowly. He didn’t speak as he didn’t trust his voice not to tremble and shake, his lips curled into a sorrowful smile. Instead he just lifted her head slightly and touched their foreheads together, the last intimate moment the lady would ever feel. His hand trembled, but drew the dagger across her neck swiftly and precisely. It was a clean cut, she’d have fell unconscious almost immediately and would pass soon afterwards. The task done, he laid her head to the ground slowly before he stood up and stepped away from the dying woman.
He didn’t make it far before his dagger dropped to the sand and he followed after, falling to his knees. A hand combed through his hair as Bormont’s entire body shook. He’d killed before, on the rare occasions when he and his comrades hadn’t been able to subdue criminals, but this was different. He’d never had to ease someone’s pain by giving death, never felt the sensation of their lives leaving their bodies. He didn’t sob, but his eyes glazed over as he relived the moment. He knew that until his dying day, those blue flecked green eyes would never leave his memories.