"Finish...?" The word barely even came out. There were still tears on her face, tears of relief and joy and the kind of cold thrill that comes from an all-too-close brush with death. She was so tired. And knowing that Darin was alright robbed the fight from her and she wanted so badly to give in and just rest. But she wasn't so convinced she'd come back if she did. She'd never say that out loud, she didn't want to worry Darin. But that thought stayed ever-present in Ridahne's mind. 

Tsura dipped his sleek head at Darin when she spoke to him in almost a bow. All the creatures of Astra knew and respected the authority of the Seed-Bearer, and the proud Tsura was no different. After he'd lowered himself and Darin struggled to maneuver the much taller than her Elf onto his back and secured her there, Tsura straightened with such grace and care, it was like he knew his longtime rider was in a sore condition. 

A soft, horribly strangled voice joined the orchestra of nighttime creatures making their gentle noises. "[I]Eialtih.."[/I] The Azurei word had many meanings, including 'master' (as in a master and apprentice), 'captain', or 'trusted advisor'. In a way, Ridahne meant all three. "Have I served well?" This is not something a coherent Ridahne would have ever, ever asked. But she asked it now, half delirious and yet genuinely concerned about the answer. If she'd been more aware of herself, she would have noted the guilt she felt about  leaving Darin to clean up the absolute mess that was Ridahne when it should have been her looking out for Darin. Or the anxiety she felt when she realized just how close she'd come to genuinely failing in her task. But she was not so self-aware and instead asked the question.


Mitaja was quick to lead the way, dashing ahead but never too far out of sight for her glowing greenish yellow eyes to pierce the darkness like two little guiding beacons. She arrived back at the spot and did a pass under Talbot's legs as if to check in with her friend and see how he was doing before circling menacingly around the captive archer. Ridahne was silent the whole way except the rasp of her breath. Shallow and slow, but steady. She blacked out, and when the elf came to, she could blearily see the captive archer. By the Tree, she was proud of Darin for doing that much. Ridahne knew fighting wasn't Darin's strength, but somehow she no longer seemed entirely the clumsy girl she met hanging from vines on the roadside. 

The sight of the other elf made her blood boil even in her current state. She snarled and had a mind to get up and draw steel on him, but she was securely tied to the saddle, and after that gentle reminder she gave it up. Probably couldn't even lift her sword anyway. Ridahne didn't like watching Darin attempt to execute the man. It wasn't that the elf was made uncomfortable by death and blood--she very much was not. But watching Darin try to execute a person was like watching a beautiful flower succumb to fungus and rot. Ridahne knew the weight of blood. She did not want it on Darin's hands. Her hands belonged in the soil where things grew and flourished, not tearing the life out of a person. That was Ridahne's curse. 

But Darin did not kill him, not directly. Something in Ridahne was relieved, even though she would have slain the man herself after forcing some answers out of him. He was a deadman, sure, but Darin would not watch the life drain from his eyes and know with bitter certainty that it was her hand that did it. Ridahne was thankful for that. 

They left. The undulating of Tsura's body jolted her arrow-pierced leg miserably with every step and she felt her head pound to the rhythm of his hooves. But Ridahne was too far gone to feel much misery at this point. The pain was something she was aware of, but not a dominating sensation of discomfort like it should be. She hadn't sustained any one fatal injury, but she had an arrow in her thigh, a very deep cut in her side, and her hair was matted in the back where her head had been slammed into a tree root. Tsura looked painted on his right side where her blood had either rubbed off or dripped onto him. Ridahne was not doing well, but the fact that she was still breathing was hope enough. She'd make it if she got some help. Soon.