No sooner than the murmured apology had left the witch's lips was Telaris sitting up, casting a small light-spell to illuminate the secluded grove. "Ah, so you found a friend," he said, managing a slight smile. It was pure falsity - from the look of the woman, she was a witch, and he had no love in his heart for the half-wild, untrained, amateur breed that called themselves magic-users and yet refused any sort of formal schooling or actual effort to hone their magics. True, there had been a few wixes he'd met who had potential, but they never used it, instead squandering their abilities in some completely useless manner. But he'd been awake when the archer stole out of their impromptu camp, and lain awake, listening for him, half-certain he would not return. So it was with some fortune that he did come back, albeit with some rag-tag spellcaster at his heels.

Getting up, he approached the pair, stretching slightly. "Devon, I do hope you can forgive my earlier harshness. I suppose the urgency of the situation in which we find ourselves has made a demon out of me, whether I intended it or not. We are stronger as a unified force, so please, be assured that I take no issue with you finding us another ally." Careful now with his words - us, we, unity, binding them together through language and diminishing his own former superiority - the mage put on a genuine front, looking over the newcomer with curiosity. Acting was not his best skill, but he could enhance it, subtly, with a bit of magic charm, to make himself a more believable sort. If nothing else, he could always think with earnestness on how they could be useful, and ply that into a facsimile of camaraderie. 

Once formal introductions had been made, however, he seemed concerned about the other witch that Mela mentioned having met with before, and quizzed her about what she thought of the stranger. Finally, he looked thoughtful, musing on the information, and inquired, "I don't suppose you recall where you met her? Even if a bit recalcitrant, we could always use another ally. Particularly someone well-travelled. Four is a solid number, well-rounded, and enough for us to each get rest even if a guard must be posted." Looking to the petite witch, he gave a mild, sympathetic smile. "I'd appreciate it if you could find her again and recruit her to us, if she seemed trustworthy enough. There's no knowing what sort of ill-intentioned types there may be out here, looking to prey on honest people trying to help the Princess, so we should bolster our numbers where we can." Though the idea of two witches, one withdrawn and bitter, the other perky and talkative, made for a very unpleasant thought, it was still better to have more help than less, more shields to stand behind than fewer. So long as he made sure to reign in his tendencies for being overbearing and perhaps a bit bossy, it would be fine. Probably.

---

Not terribly far off from the trio, back by the road, the sellsword was patiently lighting their fire a second time - Mela's windy disappearance had of course blown out the flames and required them to rebuild it. Perhaps the witch had had a point, though it was a moot point now, since she'd fled. Well, it could be kept in mind for next time. The words had stung a bit, but not much; years of travel alone tended to give one a thick skin, and they were no exception to that inevitability. Living on bounties and contract work was a lonely life, so one had to adapt, or be crushed by it. Sociability was simply not useful if you had to make and break connections as frequently as a sellsword did. The only thread connecting it all was coin, and coin, though useful, was a poor companion.

All of this was worth dwelling on, and perhaps, if someone else made the same venture as the witch, they would give the newcomer a fairer chance than her, if only in some half-hearted attempt to make up for their previous misstep. Perhaps no one would - only time would tell. Beneath their hands the fire sprung to life again, a small, bright beacon in the heavy darkness. Once again they were alone, as they often were. Familiarity made it tolerable, and they went back to their map, trying to guess where a runaway royal recently turned werewolf might go in search of shelter.