OpticPeach
(8/10)
With a sick feeling in his stomach Amon followed her finger to look at the scars, easily seen with her state of undress. His frown deepened and he was sure there was murder in his eyes, by the time she'd shown the one on her arm. He was no stranger to the idea of violence on the road; he'd blackmailed a warrior into protecting him on the way to the port where the airship brought him to Belrea. Amon wasn't a fighter either, only knew what self defensive techniques he'd been taught as a noble who might one day be the target of an assassin.
He wanted to volunteer to escort her to her tree, once they'd found a map, but he swallowed his tongue as soon as the ridiculousness of the suggestion hit his mind. He was no fighter, and once he'd dropped her off - what? Did he expect to magically make it back to Belrea in one piece? He didn't even have the gold to pay someone to escort her, not after spending most of it getting here.
"That... must have been terrifying. I'm sorry." Amon said, meeting her eyes. "I'm glad you are - recovered, at least. With any luck when you find your ah... Sisters - then perhaps they will find you a group to travel home with, when all is said and done."