Gregor, waiting for Loka to respond, closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths; he could smell the foul stench of the dead wolf, the wetness of the wood and the smoky scent of the dying embers. Everything seemed absurdly quiet now. All creatures in vicinity had fled during the fight, leaving the forest devoid of its usual sounds. Only the wind was there, caressing the canopy above him. 

He felt his heartbeat slow down and after being satisfied that he had sufficiently calmed, Gregor opened his eyes again and straightened up. His attention was caught by the faint glow of his blade and he watched as it dissipated, returning the longsword to its ordinary appearance. Gregor wiped the blade down with the edge of his coat and sheathed it. He bent down to pick up the werewolf's severed head, wrapping his leather-clad fingers in its coarse fur -- it would serve as evidence of his vanquishing of the beast and, being honest, made for a good trophy. Gregor briefly considered sending to his father.

Upon hearing Loka respond, Gregor made his way to her with slow, measured steps. He could faintly make out where she was sitting now that he knew where she was but her features were obscured by darkness and he had no way to gauge how she was doing. He stopped at her feet and reached out his free hand, looking down on her wordlessly.