Thankfully with the newfound reinforcements and some good old fashioned determination, with a little fear of death sprinkled around as well of course, the defending force was able to force the invaders into retreating across the river. Unfortunately that meant that the farms and fighters on the other side were decimated, the only movement that could be discerned was that of the lumbering mountains of iron that the portside fighters had just narrowly fought off. Sagax's help was not needed for the most part during the battle, not that he wasn't thankful for it, for his much larger and much more combat-adept allies were able to bring down a good portion of the initial assault force. He felt a little useless, but at least he was there in reserve. Besides, he probably saved Felix from an untimely demise, and that made him feel a little bit better. Coward or fearless warrior, no one deserved to die so horribly as to be crushed by the weapons of those creatures. 

Mara's love and mercy knew no discrimination; from the most timid of deer to the most ferocious of troll and everything in between, all life was precious, and Sagax tried to follow her teachings as best he could. But that only made him wonder...did Mara also love those giants? They seemed to want only to destroy and conquer. Certainly though, there must have been some among them that showed mercy? That harbored discontent for the mindless slaughter and sought peace instead? There was a good chance of it, or so Sagax hoped, and deemed the invaders too small of a sample size to judge the entire race on. Every race, every culture has its fair share of such persons. The Altmer, for instance. Sagax knew very well that while a fair amount of High Elves deemed themselves above all other races, many mingled happily with the common masses. He immediately thought of the kindness and friendship of Varulae, the Altmer woman who opened up her home to his family. Surely there were such entities within the society that the invaders hailed from. Sagax would just need to wait for time to tell.

Sagax began moving about the city, lending a hand wherever he could. He started by moving bodies and wounded from the pier. He thought he could handle the bloody work, and he was fine for a little while, but eventually the smell of blood and the sight of mangled corpses got the better of the Imperial. He retreated further into Windhelm, away from the majority of the carnage, feeling like he was about to be sick all over the stone paths of the city. Fortunately he was able to keep everything down, taking deep breaths of the "clean" air to purge the smell of blood from his mind. Soon he found work much more suitable to his capabilities. Taking messages, supplies, or whatever else in hand for guards and other mercenaries, the small runner raced through Windhelm as fast as an arrow, delivering his assigned cargo and words to the intended recipients. The man had to revisit the blood-soaked pier a few times, mostly to deliver potions and such things, but he never stayed for any longer than he had to. On one trip he accidentally bumped, or rather, slammed, into a familiar High Elf on his way back through the gates heading away from the warehouse. He looked back momentarily and apologized as politely as he could in the second or so he made eye-contact. Sagax could feel her icy stare on the back of his neck as he left. He was certainly glad he was as fast as he was.

As great as his stamina was, Sagax had been running full speed all over Windhelm, and he hadn't gotten much sleep the night before. He was even more thankful now than before for Sevine's order of stew for him last night, it was probably the only thing giving him any energy. He leaned against the wall of Candlehearth Hall, stopping to catch his breath and waiting for his assistance to be called for again.