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With a snap of his fingers, Zevemar dismissed Quilla. It wasn’t that his dislike his familiar (not totally, anyway) but the bird never failed to make a difficult situation more difficult, hardly something he needed right now. He brushed one hand down his chest, straightening his rumpled robes, and glanced at Io to see whether she was badly hurt. She seemed only to have some light wounds, received from Hercules, but was still on her feet.

As for his father, Zevemar wasn’t sure how to tell him that he had actually been the one to start the fight. For a handful of frantic seconds he deliberated and then came to a conclusion; he simply wouldn’t.

“Uh, this is Horus, we were just talking to him when they… when it started. He was kind enough to stand beside us and even out the numbers a little.”

“What I think Zev means is that when those [i]brutes[/i]–” Io waved her arm in a grand, empathic gesture, packing more emotion into the word than some poets put into entire epics, “–attacked us, [i]unprovoked[/i], he came to our aid.” She glanced over at Horus, feud momentarily forgotten (and mostly forgiven), before returning her attention to Andrimar. “Did I mention that they struck first? Because they did.”

Zevemar looked once at Io, once at his father, twice at Io and back to his father.

"Uh... Yes. What she said."