Ryathane paused in his work when Aeylisia moved, but quickly returned to it when he realized she had only dropped her head to her arm. With the way she was breathing, either the numbing agent he had used did not take full effect on elves, or she was trying to calm herself. Either way, Ryathane shifted behind her to give himself a couple inches of an advantage should she turn on him the moment he finished suturing her, and his usefulness to her ran out. He had no intention of taking any chances, even though she [i]did[/i] help him earlier. 
	The boy scowled at her answer to his question. “That isn’t usually warfare etiquette.” He rolled his eyes, the action bringing out his youth for a short second. “Did they bear any crests? Were they royal soldiers--dressed in armor and likely bearing a coat of arms,” he explained just in case, his tone slightly irate, “or just working men?”
	[i]With the offered prize for one of your kind,[/i] he thought, [i]it wouldn’t surprise me if an entire village was out hunting your like.[/i] And again, the question of why the king would want an elf--and alive, at that--crossed through his mind and deepened his scowl. If a royal wanted them, then it spelled trouble, if not because of whatever the king had planned, then for the people who were under the rule of the deranged man. That question, he decided, was one he would find the answer to, one way or another.