[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/hSbxgyH.png[/img]
[sup][@Pyromania99][@Rune_Alchemist][/sup][/center]
Two dead men and an injured girl with ears as long as Augusta’s. Isidore gazed over their weapons, their fine clothing, then to the destitute appearance of the child, before narrowing his eyes. Assumptions came easily, and though he guarded himself against it, there was still a pit in his stomach that burned. Even when he was young, stupid, and thoughtless, he hated this shit, and now that he was an old man in a young man’s body? Isidore’s heart pounded hard, and his blood ran hot.

But that was only on the inside. From the outside, his posture did not change, and he did not approach.

The dark-haired man thrust his sword into the snow and turned his palms so they faced the child. [b]“You’re injured. Tell us what happened, and we’ll heal you.”[/b] He gestured briefly at the ragged state of his clothing, the bloodied boar skin that Augusta held, their general lack of possessions. [b]“We’re not with those men.”[/b]

His gaze left the bruised waif, then scanned his surroundings slowly, methodically.

[b]“Are there more of you?”[/b]