[color=goldenrod][i][h2][center]Gerard Segremors[/center][/h2][/i][/color]
[@Raineh Daze]

He blinked, then turned, gilded irises meeting her crimson gaze.

His circuit had seen, so far, a stayed hand— most Boars to speak for along the path had already expired in combat, or were deeper beneath the line of the trees. The swaying pilars of blue-black hardwood were thus caught in the midnight wind, carrying whispers of the earth and night that slipped through the voidlike quiet that always followed the roar of battle leaving his ears. 

By the time he'd registered that one of his wrists was lagging behind his stride, and the pale smear in the corner of his view, the First and Youngest had already allowed her grip to slack, her message already sent.

He took a breath. Two.

[color=goldenrod]"...Ma'am."[/color]

And gave a tired nod, as the third breath took a certain tension with the wind— his posture a little less carefully, pointedly ramrod. His torso ached. Lungs? Heart? Who could say... He then gazed up to the full moon, past the canopy.

[color=goldenrod]"It'll be between them and Her, then."[/color]