[color=#1A1A3B][b][u][h1][sub][sub][sub]Farren[/sub][/sub][/sub][/h1][/u][/b][/color]		    watched Torquil with a concerned sort of wariness, however, as the man struggled to form a coherent explanation or response of any kind, Farren’s eyes narrowed. The man seemed only to manage a few words at a time and still seemed to struggle despite the fact that his wound had healed already. Farren shifted stance, so he was at a slight diagonal, his right shoulder leading, blade in hand.

Then, as Torquil seemed like he might be able to actually manage a sentence, the wraith burst forth into being and–too fast for them to stop it–drew its wickedly serrated silver dagger across his companion’s throat. Farren’s eyes narrowed, his foot slid back, and he started to move. For once, however, Ophelia was faster, darting in and bringing her blade of moonlight down in a swift cleaving strike. So, instead, Farren’s off-hand reached into his pouch and withdrew a blood vial.

He’d taken in that Ophelia’s arcane implement seemed far more suited to the task of striking at the wraith, so he held back, giving her room to work. His brows were pulled together in a frustrated sort of concern, his lips pressed thin as he watched, taking everything in. There weren’t many places he could inject the blood vial into Torquil, but if it became necessary, he’d do so. For the moment though, he remained where he was. His hearing clued him in to the positions of the others and the rapid approach of both Amaris and the Moonbound Hunter, but he didn’t spare any of them a glance.