Kharrn glanced up from the small fire he had coaxed to life and dropped another twig on the flames. Jo'ari was in a bad way. He had seen similar wounds as a mercenary,  even inflicted some with his hammer, and with the fever setting in it didn't look good for the cat. He had noted Kharmam's stare and how it had stayed locked on the rock. It was a grim reality that things might come to a mercy killing, but no one could say for certain.

The Orc rose as Ayron returned and he frowned at the white stripes of skin on the Imperial's wrist along with his shirt tied into a pack, "Someone was successful at least."