[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/1g8UN9K.png[/img][/center]

With little else to focus on, Siris turns his attention to the loudest voice nearby.

He exhales through his nose as he approaches, his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sheathed sword. The woman’s frantic efforts grow more desperate with every passing second.

The blood pooling beneath the bodies is thick, dark. Too much of it. Their faces were pale, Siris doesn’t even need to check for breath—he’s seen enough men die to recognize the stillness.

A glance to the side catches Iddin approaching from the distance, he must've retreated from the earlier fight. The thought of him running away pulls a small chuckle from Siris, potentially seen even by the healer himself as he got closer.

The sound isn’t lost on Ia. She snaps her tear-filled gaze up at him, anger twisting her features. Siris meets her glare without much thought or concern. Whether she misunderstood the chuckle or not doesn’t concern him, he still maintains his usual attitude.

[B]"They look like good fighters, however, I'm sorry to say girl but unless our Iddin"[/B] Siris says with a headnod in the shaman's direction [B]"found a way to resurrect the dead, this was their last battle."[/B]