Rolling an orc's corpse over the wall, Zatana retrieved her dagger as the body dropped. Wiping the blood away with a bit of cloth she had cut free from a dead guardsman the dark elf watched as the orcs were chased from the walls. The men about her cheering their victory, though Naysein's song wore off and the reality was simply put before them. War was messy. It was brutal, and the bodies of friends, relatives were scattered about before them with grievous wounds in various stages of dead or dying. Bodies were being carried from the wall, wounded men helped to where their wounds would be tended to, those who didn't see the horror took trophies. Had these orcs been of any real note, Zatana might have joined them. There was nothing wrong with a trophy to remember a worthy enemy or to take proof of the kill.

Moving to shadow the Prince, the dark elf arched a brow as the paladin called the bard elf 'Nan'. An odd familiarity if she was any guess. Though her brows snapped together with a glower from the shadows of her cowl when the Prince suggested they return to the keep to rest. Did the boy listen to nothing? Her only task was to keep him alive and well and now he was running off into more danger! Exasperated and feeling as though she understood her grandfather's dislike for excitable people, Zatana bounded along the wall after the Royal Prince. Sliding her daggers into their sheaths, she watched as the Manald was savaging a troll. Drawing her bow form her back, she snatched a few arrows from a guardsman as she passed the soldier. Her bow quickly drawn as she perched on the battlements and took careful aim at the troll. Firing when she thought she could without hitting the wolf-man and to cover his potential retreat. Absently she hoped the wolf would hear the 'oil' part of Leonidas's plan.