Kolbe nodded, once, and withdrew, setting to his task, his duty, as the shimmering red horizon settled into gloom.  

The scavenger didn't matter.  He'd had no part of what happened here.  Just another desert vulture come to pick the carcass clean.  No need to labor themselves with a prisoner.  No call to slow their quest or sully their hands with an execution.  No.  A few minutes alone with the Colossus would be penance enough.  

The last year had taught Kolbe well, and the camp was in order before darkness came, and a canopy of stars ruled the sky.  He spared another silent, approving nod at the sight of the Elvish weapon being put to the flame.  A good brother, as he'd known.  

Time passed.  Falkenberg was trading words with the captain.  Kolbe paused in his writing, sat facing the campfire, head turned slightly toward them.  Palpably listening.  There was no sign yet of Gerald, but like as not the dinner bell would bring him, though all the legions of hell stand in his way.