What are you two doing standing around and gawking like bloody idiots?"
Silas turned his head suddenly, finding himself caught between gawking uselessly between Talbot and Ambra. He'd failed to do a single useful thing the whole encounter, and it just dawned on him that his little venture to this corner of the battlefield had yeilded nothing good for anyone. Without the words to speak, he instead forcefully applied his palm to his face, in frustration. He gave Ambra another look-over, a tight pain in his chest. He came to try and help, and all he's done is... Well, nothing. gods damn it all, he was so useless as-is. If only he'd had the patience for magic, of some sort, he could at least have given a try at healing. Although, the one time he did give it a try, the wound only widened, so...
Silas cringed at the memory, only recovering as a new voice joined in. Lumara, as she introduced herself, reeked of alcohol and dried blood. And yet, in the midst of all the fumes, she seemed incredibly sober. Shakily, Silas stood himself up. Ambra seemed to be keeping herself awake, and he prayed she kept that up until they could find proper help.
"..Lumara, is it?" Silas questioned, jabbing Talbot in the side with his elbow. He gave his friend an edgy glance, deciding that any help was good help, at this point. He looked back to Lumara, still in awe of her alcohol tolerance. "...If we're surrounded, I sure hope you know a way out of this." Slias gave a quick glance back to their injured companion, again, awash with concern. "Preferrably with the least number of casualties."