The smells of death wafted towards them; it was too familiar. Kire couldn’t afford to be sentimental, not now.  She knew how it was to be trapped in the memories and stay there, paralyzed by tragedy. She did consider leaving then, or perhaps coming back here when her leads have dried up. It wasn’t like this place was going anywhere, and she might even catch him in a better mood. The thought didn’t last. 

At his parting shot, her fist darted out, taking advantage of his lapse in attention. “That was the wrong thing to say, little man,” she muttered, searching around for something to bind him with. Not long later, she had tied him up, careful to avoid touching him too much, and sat him upright against the temple wall. She had considered taking off the fabric that hid his face, but the part of her that felt guilty and angry at herself for being unable to control her emotions earlier decided to let him have his anonymity, at least for now. [i]Now what. Do I leave him here?[/i] Kire huffed, then turned away, going back into the temple.

She spent the time airing out the chapel, clearing out the rubble, and burying whatever remains she could bury. She had gotten too used to burying the dead. She wished she had brought ale with her, but all she had with her was a waterskin. Now and then she paused to look about for any signs of other desert dwellers, or of Ikegai or whoever had caused this destruction. Nothing. Only the traces of blood magic, that other magic that seemed endemic to this place, and the aura emanating from her ‘prisoner’. Sighing, she returned to where she had left him, started a campfire, and sat with a huff. She unclasped her helmet and slipped it off, wiping the sweat from her brow and ruffling her short, blonde hair that had clung irritatingly against her skin.