Blood still soaked the earth when Skitz and Aren silently returned to Lumberling's side.
There were no questions. No hesitation. Only understanding, he'd done it for the elf.
Their eyes turned toward the girl. Barefoot, trembling, bruises hidden beneath thin rags, her eyes vacant like a soul left too long in the dark.
Skitz finally broke the silence.
"Is she someone important to you, my Lord?"
Lumberling didn't answer at first. His gaze remained on the elf, unreadable.
"No," he said at last, voice flat. "She's a stranger."
A brief flicker of confusion passed over Skitz's face. Aren frowned, quietly trying to make sense of it. If she wasn't anyone… then why?
None of them spoke the question aloud. They were soldiers, loyal to the end. Even if that end came from a single decision no one fully understood.
"Maybe she's a mage," Lumberling added suddenly, as if grasping for logic. "That might be useful."
