Ciel leveled an arrow at the retreating figures, maintaining his aim as the bard retreated off into the distance. The Mark's aura still hung over them, the purple-crimson shades tracing their movements like echoing shadows. Tempting him to let the arrow fly, tempting him to exact the old saying, 'eye for an eye'. They cut him and are getting away with it. Picked on others and walked away. Hurt for unhurt. It felt like sharp flint digging into his stomach, demanding to be fixed, demanding to see the red aura savour their wounds and sate its vengence.

Ciel held on tight on his bowstring, crushing the crude arrow's fletching as he fought to swallow his own adage. No, he had to be better than this. The bowstring saggged, the arrow uselessly dropping on the ground. Only as he put his bow back did Ciel address the growing dullness in his side. His side had continued to spill blood, now staining the entire left side of his clothes wet with crimson. He didn't acknowledge it too much, not out of any form of stoicism, but that pain was much quieter to him. Like muffled screams under a cloth, desperately trying to reach the other side but only going to far as to make distant acknowledgements. Was it a blessing or curse? For now, at least, Ciel could keep on his senses rather than kneeling over in pain.

Ciel tried to recall the last time he had to use a triage spell. It was in basic training, every Lalune had to learn some form of emergency healing spell. But as Ciel tried to wave the daggers' casting amber over the gash at his side, he could only muster a weak simmer and nothing more. Ciel whined in frustration. If there was any skill he shouldn't have forgotten...! He'll have to fall back to what he knew - physical remedies. He ripped off some of the tattered remainders of his sleeves (Ciel had to admit, that bard had done some very clean cuts) and tied it around his waist. It wouldn't necessarily heal the wound completely, but it would at least serve to stopgap the blood for now. Luckily, it missed tendons so it shouldn't affect his mobility too much, provided that someone didn't decide to exacerbate his wounds any further. Speaking of it, though... Ciel should probably thank the stranger who covered for him when he was downed. He didn't know so much about the other people in the group. Same sides in brawls rarely meant anything more than "I don't hit you, you don't hit me". But the least he could thank those who meant he was still alive right now, even if he was just a bystander who got roped in.

Then it occured to him that Ciel had missed his previous chance to introduce himself. To them, he was just a stalker who suddenly jumped into their fight. But surely they wouldn't attack him now? Ciel was guardedly optimistic, but still nervously dug his heels. It was the right thing to do - he'll have to do the right thing. Ciel sheepishly approached the spellblade, then bowed slightly in thanks. He didn't have anything to offer, but if they needed his skills, he would be happy to oblige. If only he could [i]say[/i] these things, rather than stumble on every second word. Instead of making a fool of himself, Ciel decided to keep silent and hope that his body language conveyed no hostile intent. Better they mistake him for a mute than a fool who couldn't keep his train of thought straight.