Walker let Isabelle tend to the misguided poor sod who had pulled a knife on him and tried to go about that strange church nonsense of a magical attack. The man had been spouting out a rather concerning amount of information, even as the blind woman all but leapt into his arms, one arm wrapping around her in a familiar motion as he listened to what was being said and processing it. Something showed the poor bastard their faces, that they would kill him for speaking the words, that this Daggard and his beasts had taken the survivors of that viewing and Kaath went after them. Whatever this Daggard was, well, was trouble and Kaath had been falsly considered to be at blame for the majority of this. Majority since she apparently ensured he couldn't run with that...transformation, curse, mutation, whatever one would refer to it as. Kaath's capabilities only grew more known, as fractional as one could refer to that right now, and he regarded the healed man quietly. Attempts on his life had been commonplace enough that, well, it really wasn't anything personal anymore, and he didn't bother holding ill will towards the poor bastard.

	Instead his attention shifted briefly to Isabelle who was buried into his chest and hanging on for dear life. How in spites name had she gotten here? The last thing he remembered was fighting on the bridge and she had been getting those who couldn't, or shouldn't, fight through the escape tunnels and to relative safety. Well, not safety he figured, but at least the slim chance of survival as they could imagine across the seas. [color=598527]"Now how did you even get here ahead of us, little Saint, last I knew you were helping people escape..."[/color]

	The sounding of a horn interrupted his train of thought and thinking, as was the discussion going on between Violet, the golem, and the plague doctor. What came out of the treeline was trouble, or looked it, given they armed themselves and started making their way across the bridge. He shifted Isabelle behind him, unslinging his own crossbow as easily as one might simply report the time of day or the weather. The other fellow seemed to have a similar idea as well, fetching his own weapon and making ready to meet the newcomers. He loaded the bolts with bodkin tips for that armor, of course all of them were still laced with as potent a poison as he had time to procure and manufacture prior to being dumped into...whatever he wanted to refer to this spite driven mess of a situation he had found himself in. He had made sure he was squarely between Isabelle and any approaching trouble given her, well, obvious condition in being blind. He also spoke calmly as he held the crossbow at the ready as well, wanting to take a chance to draw a better shot as they crossed, as well as try and identify their intentions, though he was ready to open fire at a moment's notice. [color=598527]"That doesn't look like what you'd call a welcoming committee, especially if they were driven this way. Stay back if your not comfortable in a melee, goes without saying."[/color]