[center][b]Cease Fire[/b][/center]
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“Well, this got a bit out of hand.”

Draza had a pained smile upon her face. She was scared, her little heart was pounding, her arm was somewhere between numb and throbbing horribly. She knew she was hurt, it was pretty evident. The large chunk of structure inside of her had made that very clear for her.

She didn’t really know what was going on. She hadn’t really been in combat before like this. She’d been certainly near combat, but never in it. Everything seemed to move so numbly and slowly. It was almost like it wasn’t real, as if it were some piece of fiction and she was but a character within it.

Gahrul’s voice snapped her out of her almost trance-like state.

“None hurt Draza!”

Oh that big lug, he hadn’t a clue. To be fair, Draza barely had a clue herself. She knew there were arrows, and was still unsure if what was in her was one or not. It didn’t feel like an arrow, but then again, what does an arrow feel like?

“Gahrul?” She spoke, a bit more clear than her muted mumblings earlier, “You’re really strong. I’m glad you’re my friend.”

Gahrul, for his own stance of mind, only now registered that Draza had indeed been hurt. Mixed thoughts of failure and unbridled rage soared and filled his brain. He turned towards the nearest thing that looked like an enemy and roared, lifting a foot and stomping it down before looking like he had the dangerous intent of charging and crushing the injured Papacy fighters.

“Gahrul, no!”

Draza had little understanding of what was going on, but she certainly didn’t want more unnecessary damage to go on. The screams and crunching from earlier speeding up in a burst of static in her mind, “Less smash, I’m not the only one hurt. Others can handle the rest, your strength would be better helping get people to safety.”

Gahrul want smash. There is no denying this. But Draza was talking such words to him, and he want Draza happy too. So, in his mind, Gahrul only has two options. Gahrul can smash and have to have mad Draza say things that will make him cry like little girl in sorriness, or Gahrul can not smash. Gahrul hates such tough choices in life.

The look of pouting on his face was evident, “Won’t smash,” his tone, dejected. Draza walked over, and with her good arm hugged his leg, “Good, let’s help someone then.”

And, so they did.