A hush fell over the hall, everyone, even the lungless Roger paused to catch their breath. A stale scent hung heavy in the air, replacing the sickly-sweet rot that came before. Underfoot something crunched beneath his boot and it took Caleb a moment to realize all the stain glass windows were shattered, their remains nothing more than thousands of sparkling multi-colored shards lying scattered across the ruined chamber. The damage did not end there. Smoldering holes from blasts were patterned randomly across the walls and floor, and more than a few corpses rested in unnatural poses amongst the battered upturned furniture. It felt surreal to walk amongst the desolation, as if all the damage and suffering were nothing more than his imagination. He stalled beside Byures, sucking his breath in at the alligatorman’s countless wounds. He felt Roger walk up behind him, laying a skeletal hand on his shoulder. For all his centuries of life and unlife Roger never forgot the sting of death, and the suffering the grim passage brought in tow.

	Checking the sleeping warrior’s pulse, the best he could manage on the unfamiliar anatomy Caleb glance back towards the reanimated doctor, his blue eyes pleading for good news. Roger could only turn his pale face away. “I did all I could… He is beset by a poison and more bolts and gaping wounds than should be feasibly possible. I am quite sure both his legs are fractured as well. Any lesser creature would have perished already.”

	The boy’s lower lip trembled. “You can’t let him die; he saved my life… You gave him medicine for the poison.”

	“Not exactly.”

	“Then…?”

	“I induced him into an herbal sleep.” Roger said gently. “Slowing his heart rate to stem the bleeding and the spread of the poison, or if worst comes, inhibit the senses so his death might be less agonizing. Perhaps if I had time, and he were in my infirmary there would be something I could do. But he is to heavy to move, and too far gone for me to retrieve my remedies. Who knows, he is fearsomely strong, perhaps he will fight off both the venom in his veins, and the trauma of his many, many wounds on his own.”

	Taking the giant’s limp hand in his own, Caleb could not keep silver tears from slipping down his cheek, dampening the dull green scales. To think, he attempted to fight the Hunter and save the council members not long ago, only to be mourning beside his inert form less than an hour later. It was almost overwhelming for the child, who underwent so much already. Roger maintained the comforting pressure on the grieving boy’s shoulder for a moment longer. He needed to check the others and see if anyone survived Darmae and Scer’s wrath. Just casting a cursory inspection of the chamber’s interior did not instill him much hope, but he had to try.

	“We can’t leave him.” Caleb begged, when the skeleton move to depart. “That would be cruel, no one should die alone.”

	“You and I will stay beside him.” John offered from a few paces away, where he stood sentinel beside the looming chamber doors. Caleb fixed the man a piercing blue stare, that permeated John’s very soul. He squirmed under the pressure, but he had spoken his words honestly and held the boy’s gaze. Let him examine my conscious, I am not lying. Not this time. John reassured himself releasing a grateful sigh when Caleb gave him a small, acknowledging nod. They would not abandon their vigil beside the Hunter, not unless imminent danger forced his hand.

	Roger flitted from body to body, first checking his most prevalent charges, clucking his nonexistent tongue at Caleb’s sprained wrist, John’s battered shoulder, and Rainbow’s broken nose, but otherwise found nothing that warranted immediate medical attention. The rablin himself chose to stand watch over the broken Darmae, though not much watching was needed. She lay transfixed upon the ground, an occasional spasm rippling across her body as a faint, high pitched whine escaped her lips. Her hair, once long and proud had melted away, leaving nothing but a scared scalp in its place. Finally, her eyes glowed a pure white, no pupil or iris remaining as she stared unblinking towards the ceiling. There is nothing, Roger decided, I could do for her, even if I felt so inclined. He moved on. Every corpse needed little inspection to determine their fate. Indeed, none were even merely mortally wounded, being far past rigor mortis. After a lengthy depressing search Roger stumbled across Mason and felt a rise of hope. The young council member lived, and he even appeared mostly intact. Grasping the young man under his arms the skeletal doctor dragged him away from the wall and into the light. The redhead moaned, but remained unconscious, a sizeable lump on the backside of his head proving to be the culprit of his current state.

	Near the door John felt himself slouching, his limbs trembling not from exhaustion, but from the magical strain. His very heart burned but he kept his mouth closed, not wishing to disturb the busy doctor over minor concerns. Minor, he huffed to himself. After what I have consumed I my heart might give out any second. A part of him felt he deserved this pain and he determined it best to suffer in silence. No sooner had he decided this when his enhanced hearing suddenly pricked his ears, and he straightened up, swords at the ready. “Someone’s coming through the entrance hall.” He warned, preparing himself in case the newcomer proved a foe. The large door pushed open, and none other than Sara Nieve stepped through, and dagger in her hand. “Mother…’ John breathed, shocked and somewhat ashamed. The withering glare she gave him was all he needed to remind him of his mistakes. Sara looked over the mess left from the battle; her lips pressed into a thin line.

	“I found Jake.” She assured John, before he could raise the question. She had seen it in his eyes, the guilt that resided there burned deep. Good, he ought to feel guilty she thought bitterly. “He’s fine traumatized but alive. Ribbon is keeping him safe.”

	“Good…” John longed for her forgiveness, for her to reach out and hold him one last time. How could he tell her? How could he forgive himself, even if death felt so close?

	“We should go…” Sara looked to each one of them, from Roger tending a wounded council member, to Caleb holding the hand of a dying warrior, and Rainbow, crouched beside a damaged elderly woman, and lastly to her firstborn son, who seemed so conflicted and lost. “There’s more gnomes arriving, almost a full army’s worth and I imagine they would not be happy to see all this.” She waved a hand to indicate the destruction and loss of life on both sides.

	The child’s stained and battered features rose in protest, clutching protectively at Byures once mighty hand, now limp and weak. “Nooo, we can’t leave him behind. What if he wakes up and no one is here? I must thank him, for saving me, for rescuing all of us! He deserves better.” Caleb’s impassioned argument did little to sway the woman’s mind from the imminent danger, though her motherly instincts kicked in and she crouched beside Caleb, enveloping him in a hug.

	“I know, I know it will be okay.”

	“No, no its not okay. He was our friend, the first one we made here.” He twisted in her embrace so that he could press his face into her shoulder, small but strong fingers griping the fabric of her blouse. Her presence and the soothing circles she rubbed into his back reminded him of the Arrocmor tree, and the comfort he derived from that experience. Was this, he wondered, was this what it felt like to be comforted by a mother? Maybe not exactly the same, he decided eventually, but close enough. “We just can’t leave him alone. Please.”

	“Caleb,” she pushed to away to arm’s length, holding him by the shoulders so she could stare him in the eye. He pouted, longing for the embrace he had wanted his entire life, but he said nothing, the fear of being denied holding further than his desire to ask for more. “This, this Crocarkil saved your life today, and was your friend?”

	Caleb sniffed and nodded. “Yeah, his name was Byures the Hunter.”

	Byures the Hunter! She almost shouted aloud in shock. How in the name of the Great Oak Tree did you become friends with him? She decided not to question it, deeming the boy and his mysterious array of companions both large and small, were an instinctive part of his nature. Whether they were dangerous criminals or otherwise. After all, he’d seemed quite fond of John earlier. “If…” She began, a bit hesitantly still slightly thrown by the reveal. “If Byures here saved you and risked his own wellbeing in the process. Do you think if he could speak, would he want you to forfeit his sacrifice so that you might remain beside him until his final moments?”

	He wanted to deny her logic, but his rational mind would not let him. He rubbed his eyes, giving the slightest shake of his head.

	“No, I don’t think so either. He would want you safe. Come child,” she took his hand and pulled him to his feet. “All of you, we should leave now.”

	“John, do you think you can carry Councilman Mason?” Roger inquired as they gathered themselves to depart.

	John favored the lad a quick glance. “Aye, he’s slight enough.” Stooping the larger man, pulled the red haired druid across his shoulders, bending forward under the weight. John’s muscles burned, and his legs trembled but he did not give out or even acknowledge his internal agony.

	“What of Darmae?” Rainbow stood beside the crippled woman, unwilling to help her, but uncertain as to whether it would be safe to let her fall back into her ally’s hands. Sure, she might have been beaten for now, but if she could be healed and cast her spell upon Scer, who remained trapped within the heart of the Great Oak. What of Darmae he wondered…?