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Thump.

The sound of the corpse leaning ever so lightly against the wall made the swordswoman flinch. She'd been found... so soon? She had been sure no one had been following her... not even a sparrow could have followed her for so long without her noticing, unless it hid in the very snow or beneath her own shadow.

Each noise made her heart clench painfully, and her stomach lurch- she couldn't fight. Not here. With no room to swing her sword fully without possibly risking harm to her child if she held her close, nor a safe place to place her daughter in the meantime if she wanted her hands free. Ayra's hands were tied, and it was too late to put out the candle- she would only blind herself, at that rate.

A click. A turn of the knob.

Her hand flew to the hilt of her blade, and she held her daughter close.

Only the sight of Rei's green hair let her relax- she would have run him through, had his hair been of any other color. Pathetically enough, it was only that cue that let her know that he wasn't an enemy... no warrior would have his head exposed when dealing with a swordswoman unless they were one of two things- stupid or allied.

Or both.

Stunned into near silence by the sight of Nils's corpse, it was all she could do to clear the chair for him before helping him rest- an excuse to feel his wrist.

As she suspected, there was no pulse.

"R-Rei! I... oh, god. Nils, is he...?"

Tibarn staggered through the cold, dry, early spring night. Every step sent shooting pains up his exhausted legs. Sharp red blossoms exploded and wilted away behind his eyes. Long gashes crisscrossed over his entire body, his infamous coat in tatters. His mind was awash in pain; he only knew he had to keep walking... keep walking... keep the castle to your back, and keep walking...

The castle...

He'd been grounded at the end, backed into a corner. A swordsman under one talon. The blood, the blood everywhere, all over his face. Was it his? He could scarcely remember... there was so much blood... his... his friends'... his enemies'... The paladin, yes... he'd shattered that one's skull with his beak... that was where... that paladin... That paladin had done something... had a...

A bow.

Tibarn stopped and swayed in the middle of the road, eyes suddenly wide. Oh, goddess, Ulki...

He dropped to his hands and knees and hours of pain and exhaustion and fear and rage and sorrow and worry took its sudden toll.

Shuddering, his eyes streaming, his face shining in the dim moonlight filtered through the black smoke off the castle, he sat back in the road and wiped his mouth on his ripped and tattered sleeve. "Oh, goddess, Ulki," he sobbed softly, his wings shaking. Slowly he dragged himself to his feet, then collapsed in the dirt with his first step. Gotta get up... keep walking... keep your back to the castle... gotta keep walking... keep walking for Vah...

Crimson eyes observed the battlefield as a lithe figure crouched behind sparse shrubbery. Its gaze was chilled and its hackles high, for the scent of blood clustered thickly in its nostrils, the agonal wail of slaughter in its ears, and the memory of bright rock stained by sanguine streamlets in its mind. The creature was silent but the threat of a conflict beyond its comprehension kept the beast wary. Where all was once dissonance and hatred, now only deafening silence and sorrow perched.

The beast shuddered as fear rippled through its bones. Gradually it arose, its eyes shifting left and right, its yellowed fangs glinting in what illumination the night was able to provide. A few moments of timeless indecision saw the mauthe doog suspended in his place, exhibiting a wise creature tempered by time and by nature’s trials, a creature that feared the humans’ dark world of warfare and yet was driven by the desire to understand why. The mauthe doog raised a heavy paw and took a cautious step forward. When nothing snapped its malevolent jaws around his ankle, he deemed it safe to proceed and padded further into the withered battlefield.

The moonlight bleached his slightly grayed ochre fur and his olive skin, dramatically throwing his shadow across the blood-rich earth and the forms of carcasses with the faces of mannequins. He stepped lightly among the tangle of corpses, nosing at some that had equipped themselves with this strange rock skin, something that the humans referred to as armor. Its iron smell induced in the mauthe doog a throbbing headache next to the overwhelming stench of blood. He gently put a paw on the pallid face of a fallen soldier and stared into its lifeless eyes. The mauthe doog understood death. But he did not understand war.

He quietly trod on with unnatural somberness. He was no scavenger and had no desire to eat these creatures which taught him so much. His bushy tail swayed despondently at his hindquarters while the mauthe doog continued to explore. When he sighted the moon glinting off of a sharpened rock-tool slathered in blood, the beast turned away in his fear and confusion.

The mauthe doog ascertained he was alone. He was the only living thing out in this desolate and conflict-ridden landscape. He was the only thing the moon could follow, or maybe the only thing that could follow the moon now. His ears swiveled toward every cardinal direction it could manage, searching for any existing sound, anything from a skittering pebble to the groan of a voice. He was not looking for company or for a foe. He was looking for a sound, no more, no less.

A voice caused him to halt and bristle, his skin tingling with surprise. He lifted a limp paw hesitantly as he focused his ears, glancing here and there for the source. The voice sounded strained and choked, and its sound compelled the mauthe doog’s throat to strain as well, suggesting something like unhappiness. Something out there was unhappy. And when he detected a thud follow the voice, he immediately sighted a figure in the dirt, perhaps the strange two-legged thing he had ever observed.

The mauthe doog slowly approached the figure, his head low and his instincts rattling. He was deterred upon realizing two special limbs were mounted upon the figure’s shoulders. They were covered in the same soft material as what birds wore on their pelts. This human (or was it human?) had wings. He folded his ears and tucked his tail fearfully at this phenomenon, unable to comprehend that such an unnatural being could exist. But the mauthe doog soon remembered patterns from long ago, patterns which had taught that he too was unnatural, and he reasoned that maybe this strange creature was not a threat to him.

Yet how could this winged being be a threat? It was practically face-down in the earth and it reeked of blood. But it also had water down its cheeks. The mauthe doog could never decipher what those droplets meant. He had observed it before, but he had yet to associate it with sadness. Even so, those droplets incited a vibe that suggested this being was even more helpless than he had initially presumed.

With his ears still flat and his tail tucked, the mauthe doog nosed the figure, not entirely certain as to whether or not it was alive.

((Sheesh, I wrote a lot of if statements. sweatdrop ))

Hearing the doubtful questions, she lightly chuckled. "My dear boy, don't you ever heard of unfinished business?"

She raised her arm and lightly tapped the boy's cheek as if she was playfully slapping him. The souls behind them were lingering, as if they were watching them. Suddenly, two more souls came and floated along with the other souls. The blood red soul gave a little brighter color of its form as if it was getting impatient.

The woman could sense the blood red soul was getting restless. She had to do it quickly. She stopped tapping the boy's cheek and placed her hand onto it as she brought the boy's face closer to her.

"Well, like ghosts, the souls have to decide whether or not they are done with this world. If the souls have nothing to regret, accomplish what they need or do, and/or satisfy for their lives, they have finished their business with the world of living and move onward to the next world.

However, if the souls have unfinished business, they must decide whether they shall finish those unfinished business or not. If decide to finish, then the souls will stay put into the bodies. If the souls want to finish but are too afraid to finish, then they shall become ghosts. Wandering in the land of the living but unable to do everything that the living can do.

You can say it's liked the last thought running through your head before falling into the abyss unconscious. However, it's the feelings that make the last decision. After all, the feelings and thoughts are too different apart."

Silence took over the conversation. She had a feeling that the boy was thinking over. She wasn't quite sure whether the boy was thinking about what had happened to him before coming to the existence plane or not. All she knew was that she must hurry. When she heard the boy spoke out loud, it caught her attention.

"Hmm? You don't remember?" She then gave a small chuckled as she rubbed her cheek against his cheek, cooing him with solemn words. "Aw, you poor boy. It must be a horrible scene for you to remember. It happens to some people. When horrible situations come, people try their best to forget it so it wouldn't hurt them anymore. But do not be frightened. When horrible situations arise, we must think of positive things. Have you ever done something positive before you've arrived?"

Through a haze of red, Tibarn squinted into the darkness, shifting as he felt something cold and wet pressed to his bare skin. "M-uhh...?" he groaned, turning his head, once more dragging his fingers feebly through the dirt in an attempt to pull himself up, or at least forward. It was dark now, and Tibarn's poor night vision was complicated by blood loss and hysteria. He could just make out shapes in the black night, and his ability to make connections was hampered badly.

"Ayra...?" he murmured, the first image that came to mind. But... no, no... think... "Ed," he murmured, lifting one shaking arm and draping it over the mauthe doog's back. "Ed... gotta... gotta help... gotta go... please... Vah," he groaned between sobs. "I..."

His wings trembled as he used the mauthe doog for support, trying to get to his feet. He managed to reach his knees and crawled a bit farther down the road before he collapsed once more. "A-aagh... Ed, please... h-he-lp..."

Maiara's breathing came ragged as she struggled over the loosely packed dirt covering the hillsides, one hand pressed to her side. The fighting had surged as she ran, even more so near the edges, something she hadn't expected. A run-in with some fleeing myrmidons had nearly gotten her a sword through her side, though after an administration of a Vulnerary (those damn Heal staves never seemed to work to heal your own wounds for some ridiculous arbitrary reason), it was healed, but still stabbed painfully against her ribs when she moved.

Maiara felt her knees wobble as she crested a hill, nearly sliding all the way down to flat earth. A few steps later, what she had originally avoided occurred, and Maiara spent about five minutes face-down in the thin snow before finally pulling herself up, berating herself in her mind. Calm down... calm down! The fighting is slowing down, you're alive... "Though the question is why the fighting slowed. Did we win or lose...?" Maiara whispered. She had ripped off her bracelets already, and she rubbed a hand consciously against her forearm, missing the familiar, comforting jingle.

Her ears perked up as she heard a rough, begging voice. It was eerily familiar, enough so to send a chill down her spine. Maiara's amber eyes narrowed as she peered through the darkened air, snorting out a sneeze due to the smoke lingering in the air. "...Ti...Tibarn?" she whispered in awe, eyes widening as he collapsed. There was a huge beast right there, standing over him. Did he get surprised and lunged by the canine? Maiara crouched down and watched. If he was going to walk away, she could run to help. If he was going to attack, she could retaliate. One hand twitched to her Elfire tome and stayed there. But for now... observe.

Well, at least until that girl approached. Well. That was something out of her expectations. Maiara sat up, staring. She shattered something, then... rubbing it into the wounds? "Elixir," she murmured. Her hand moved from her tome. The beast was being ignored, so maybe he wasn't a threat. Maiara stood, but didn't walk over, not yet.

The words hit her like a pile of bricks. One night was all it took for the bard to fall- a sudden siege that she had run from, all for the safety of her daughter. While she held Vah close, still, lest the cold wake her from her already slightly disturbed slumber, all Ayra could do was sit next to the deceased boy. Feeling more like a mother than ever before, she felt something tug at her heart as she rested a hand on the boy's chilled forehead.

There was something eerie about seeing him there, unmoving in the chair. Under ordinary circumstances, she would have passed by him and not noticed anything, assuming he was sleeping peacefully. But no... this was one sleep he would never wake from.

"...Siegell? Is that who did this?" Looking up at him just as he moved, Ayra covered Vah's ears just in time- his hand had slammed into it loudly, making the child stir, but not awaken. Allowing herself to stare at his hand and its magic but not daring to cross him, she let him do as he pleased.

A wall was replaceable. A loved one was not.

Looking back out to the forest from whence they came, Ayra felt her own fists clench as she moved away from the small boy she had once considered almost a foster son. Standing and looking to the direction of the castle they had fled, her voice came out as nothing more than a toxic spit.

"And I'll do what I can. I ran like a coward. But..." Holding Vaherianslyeri closer to her, she felt the child fidget with the tight embrace for a moment before loosening her hold. "I'll do whatever I can to help."

When he finally stopped, she moved towards him, placing a hand on his shoulder. No words needed to be said.

Her worry for Tibarn eclipsed almost everything else.