“Make sure you take care of yourself.” Serna’s eyes widened at the whisper and she looked back at the red headed man while he walked away, tears still slipping down her face. Her face scrunched up as she held in a sob. She sniffed loudly and quickly wiped away the tears with the back of her hand. Now was not the time for crying. It wasn’t the time to blame herself. It wasn’t the time to be weak and pathetic. She thrust the rag into the spring, letting the cold water numb her hand before pulling it out. With one final rub of her eyes, she stood and walked back to her brother. ------ Setna was lost in his own world. Over and over he repeated his actions. How it felt to slice his blade through a human body, the rush of fighting for your own survival, the blood that splattered out of open wounds. His fingers twitched, trembling as if holding a blade. It had felt great. He had done things wrong, sure. But he would learn. His enemies would die. He would spill their blood. He would make sure that no one would survive. His shaking hand gripped his dark hair. No, no, no. This was wrong. He had killed people. He had taken their existence away from him. What had their goals been? They were selfish people, but they had their own lives, their own beings. He had taken them. They had families, a mother and a father, probably siblings too. He had disrespected the bodies. They wouldn’t be buried properly. They wouldn’t be given their burial rites. Where would their souls go? Plus… Serna had seen him. His sister had seen him kill people. She saw the way he kept going. She had to stop him. His little sister had to stop him. Setna’s body was shaking, his thoughts moving a mile a minute. It paused though as he felt a presence in front of him. [b]“Do not worry yourself with your actions, Setna. You did nothing wrong. It was simply the fire of the moment. It happens to younger warriors; it is a part of going through your steps as a fighter. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”[/b] His head tilted up slightly as recognition to the words, but his eyes couldn’t see. Even as a hand was tapped on his shoulder, he remained sightless, cold and distanced. The presence left and his body continued to shake. Kill. Kill. Kill. Live. Live. Live. -------- Serna returned to her brother, she bowed slightly as the Desert Elf moved past her. She had heard his kind words and she hoped her brother had listened as well. She crouched down and took Setna’s hands into her smaller ones. She began wiping off the blood that had dried and cracked on his palms and calloused fingers. She frowned as she looked up and continued to see his dark clouded eyes. But she continued moving, not allowing herself to think about it. She cleaned off his hands, and any skin covered with blood. Then she undid his cloak and took it to the river. She scrubbed at the blood stains until they at least faded into a light brown. Serna pulled it out of the spring, wringing the water out before she laid it across a large rock where the sun would be able to reach it. She then returned to her brother once more and undid her own cloak, wrapping it around his shoulders, and clipping it in place so he would stay warm. Next she unsheathed his blade and brought it over to the river’s edge. Her stomach twisted at the sight of it. The leftover blood had caked on and this time she knew for sure that it wasn’t her brother’s. She dipped her rag in and began cleaning off the sword, scratching the blood off as best she could. But as her bare skin touched the cold metal, something happened and she felt her heart thump in her chest. Pain burst between her eyes and Serna hunched over. Sweat pooled across her forehead and a hand immediately went to her temple to support her head. She clenched her eyes shut as the painful ache continued to burst in her head. Her eyes started to blur and her blurry vision caught sight of the elven letters lighting up on the blade. She immediately thrust the blade under the water so no one else could see. The pain was becoming unbearable and she coughed, feeling her throat beginning to close up in reaction to the headache. Her limbs were becoming weak and she finally pulled out the sword. With shaking hands she dried it off on her dress and immediately sheathed it. The headache didn’t fade. Serna wiped her lips and quietly staggered a bit over to her brother. She sat down at his side, handing the sword over, glad to be away from it. Gently she leaned her head against her brother’s shoulder and closed her eyes, willing the ache to go away. To an onlooker it just seemed like she was taking a rest. ------- As Aaerynn had approached Caelis, her eyes only focused on the man. Even as he called to the half elf, and ordered her away, her gaze never budged. Over the few days of their travels at first the female elf had been fixated on the Halfling, but now it was quite obvious that she was doing whatever she could to completely avoid looking at her. Aaerynn swallowed the bile beginning to burn at the back of her throat. The cold feeling of grief was seeping into her chest just by being near the filthy thing. She was glad when it finally escaped to the forest. Her eyes instead focused on the wound that the nearly blind man finally revealed. He had obviously dislodged the arrow too early. The blood had already spread out and Aaerynn was mildly surprised that the man was even still conscious. She quirked an eyebrow though as he started a fire and soon handed her a hot pot filled with water and salt. He asked her to pour it on the wound, and the she elf just stared at him incredulously. How stupid was he? She had an easier way to clean the wound but she did as he asked, silently relishing the tightness of the man’s face as he dealt with the pain. That never got old for her. Once that was over, her icy eyes looked into the man’s face. “Done being a fool?” She whistled for Baineth who trotted over quite happily. Aaerynn stood and searched through her pack, which had been tied to the horse’s saddle, until she revealed a small clay jar. She crouched down next to the man and inspected the wound. Her fingers pressed into his hip and were surprisingly gentle, seeing as her mood was giving off waves of disgust and annoyance. “It’s not broken.” She mumbled, and then began pressing smooth fingers along his stomach. “Nothing important seems to have been hit.” She then opened the pot and dipped her fingers into it. Her fingers came out covered in a green and brown paste that she then lathered over the wound. It immediately began to harden and stick to the man’s skin. “This will clot it and allow your skin to repair itself without being interrupted. Don’t wash it. Don’t run with it. Don’t scratch it. If it comes off, the wound will reopen and I will not help you even if you pay me.” Aaerynn quietly touched her fingertips to the man’s back making sure it actually hadn’t pierced through. It hadn’t, and the wound didn’t appear to be too deep. He was lucky. “If your lower stomach begins to swell, let me know. That means something got pierced that I missed.” She stood, wiping off the rest of the paste onto her trouser pants. She closed the jar and returned it to her pack. She paused for a moment, her usual frown on her full lips. “Not that it matters, and I don’t give a shit. But if you keep treating that filthy Halfling like a child, someone, that isn’t you, will rip out her innocence and take it as their own.” Aaerynn didn’t stay to hear his answer if he gave her one. She really shouldn’t have said anything because she honestly didn’t care. But she couldn’t just sit back and deal with the bullshit he was playing on the child. This wasn’t fantasy. More than likely the blind fool would be killed right in front of her. Then what would he do? Just stupid bullshit. She continued her rounds. The Desert Elf gave her a nod that he was ok, and it was obvious Red was fine. That left the scribbler. He had disappeared on them, but her ears pricked at the sound of muffled agony. She had seen him with that arrow through his chest, and had been looking forward to pulling it out on her own. She walked towards the tree she had heard the sound, but her eyes widened slightly as she turned and saw the scribbler sitting there, perfectly fine. He had taken off his armor and was left in a bloody shirt. But he was fine. A delicate eyebrow rose and light blue eyes searched for any type of wound. There was nothing but a scar and leftover blood. “What?” She mumbled, her eyes narrowing slightly as she took in his face. “Do you have any wounds?” She asked him waiting for his answer. ----- Rudolf had set up the campfire on his own as Tirian came over and sat down. The old dwarf nodded at the suggestion. “Yes, I think it’s best to set up camp for today. Everyone could use it.” He grunted as he stood and disappeared into one of his carts. He finally returned with a barrel over his shoulder and wooden mugs in his free hand. He propped the barrel down and opened the spout, filling two mugs with mead. “I always come prepared my dear boy! For things such as this!” He handed the warrior a mug and sat beside him. “To life my dear boy!” He raised his mug.