Sunlight, smoke and the rest of the warband greeted her as Annara stepped outside, knowing the knight and Juna behind her. One of the Ytharien announced that Nalendiel was that and, even though Annara was disgusted with herself for it, the message filled her with grim satisfaction.
From her interactions with him, she had found Nalendiel to be short-tempered and cruel, a man who would pick fights over petty things and held more contempt for the humans in their group than just about any other elf present. He had killed most of the cattle in the last town and was responsible for more than half the deaths of villagers on their last three raids, yet Lothren did little more than take him aside and reprimand him for it.

After the last raid, she had had a 'disagreement' with him over witnessing one of his killings 'in self-defence' that quickly developed into a screaming contest and it took Alonso on her side and Aust and Dagolan - the dark-haired elf - on Nalendiel's to keep them from attacking each other. Alonso had told her that Nalendiel's transgression were ignored because most of his family had been killed by humans, though it wasn't clear whether they had been Viceni or Aretans, and he had displayed fierce loyalty towards his elven brothers and sisters, defending them with little regard for his own life and, over the course of the last years, saving many of theirs on more than one occasion. 
The elves and most of the humans in the group respected him and therefore most turned a blind eye to his actions.

But not Annara. If anything, she had become even more hateful towards him after she had killed that girl, projecting her own guilt on the elf. And now that he was dead, she allowed herself to feel avenged, in a way, but the feeling lasted only a few seconds. 
As soon as Lothren ordered that they return to camp, her thoughts shifted to Alonso, then quickly to the house with the young boy and her conscience left nothing but guilt, enough to make her feel sick to the stomach.

She swung herself up on her stallion's back, watching impassively as the knight struggled with getting upon Lothren's steed and made his name known. He was boastful even now, the marks of her fists fresh on his face, and yet what had transpired on the stairs seemed strange and surreal. The blood on her hair and face was dry and itching now, her head heavy and tired, and she dreaded their return to he waggons. But at the same time, she longed for it, longed for the opportunity to confess to Alonso what she had done because the more time she spent among the Ytharien, the more she felt like wasn't herself anymore. Perhaps that was why her hatred for Gawain wasn't burning as hot out here in the sun: He was a monster in her eyes but, if she was being honest with herself, she was beginning to turn into a monster herself aswell.

Thoughts like these occupied her mind as she gently nudged her boots into her horse's sides, the loyal creature following her wordless order and making its way back towards the camp.