With care, the old man who had comforted Jezebeth somewhat undid the ropes that had bound her hands so tightly. It'd taken some time, for the knots were complicated, tight and done thrice over - that was just how much the elves had suspected her of one crime of being or another. When it'd finally loosened and come undone, Jezebeth cried in pain as blood returned to her hands, as the wounds that the ropes had inflicted on her wrists pulsed with sensations. For a few seconds, it was unimaginable, like getting run through with a blade (and Jezebeth knew how that felt), but much of it subsided soon after.

The old man then stood up, thrust his trident to the sun (looking very powerful indeed and very fitting for someone who'd saved a prominent knight from the oblivion of hopelessness and death), offering a hand to her: [b]"So Jezebeth, are you ready to come with us and get over these horrible feelings?"[/b]

Perhaps it should not have been so, but it took Jezebeth time to mull over his offer; what she'd experienced had slowed her so to such good things. But when she finally came to it, the answer seemed obvious: She had lost everything, she had failed her mission which was impossible to complete to begin with, and she couldn't go back. The only way forward was to linger, but for what purpose? Perhaps that would be revealed in the near future.

[color=Silver]"Yes. Please,"[/color] Jezebeth said and took his hand, her own still shaking, a rather anaemic and meek look on her face, as opposed to the redemptive smile she thought she should've put on. As it stood, the knight believed that she could never smile again, for every time a sliver of what resembled gladness or happiness somehow came into her mind, the death of her hundred brothers and sisters would come back to her, drive it out.

The old man was strong for his apparent age, and with a single hand, he pulled her up almost without effort on her own part; Jezebeth did feel weak, never thought she could stand again. The sharp stone that had been cutting into her left knee fell belatedly, and a blot of blood was soon expanding on her trousers there.

Jezebeth gazed up and into the old man's eyes, the eyes of her saviour, as lovingly as someone as broken and miserable as her could. For a flash, old farmer George's face had replaced his, and Jezebeth was confused by this phantasm - It had been a long day, after all.

[color=Silver]"How may I address thee, kind one?"[/color] Jezebeth managed.

[@POOHEAD189][@Fetzen][@BCTheEntity][@Banana][@The Fated Fallen]