[center][h2][b][color=#d31c0a]Deo’Irah[/color][/b][/h2][/center]

[color=#d31c0a][b]“Bren was wounded during the struggle, as their leader had faced a Swaigh before. Lhirinthyl had… a lapse of judgement, and extricating him from the leader’s grip was messy. I stabilised him immediately and he is in no physical danger, though Madara having a look at him is wise–her skilled hands will ensure his proper convalescence. He was subjected to the aura, however, so answers will not be forthcoming. I see little point in cleaning up here–if a contingent of the Crusader’s Guild comes this close to Borstown, they will attack it regardless of provocation, if this group is anything to go by. Perhaps when Bren has awoken he will give us the information we need to assess our next steps… though I believe I understand why they were after Bren: someone in their upper echelons must have the Withering.”[/b][/color] Irah replied to Vela, her tone lacking the normal hint of irritation it had when she used Lhirin’s full name. He had erred, yes, but it was mostly under the influence of the piaan–and he had used it for a noble purpose, even if Irah thought the decision to use it was foolish. She, too, had made foolish decisions for the sake of heroism today in accumulating as much taint as she had. It had worked out in the end, as they were alive and their objectives had been accomplished, so she was willing to give them both a pass.

After she was finished speaking Irah looked to the north to see Jaelnec leaning against the barn, weapons slipped from his grasp and a hand over his mouth. She left the main gathering of people without so much as a word, quickly hurrying over to his side, though upon getting closer she could see that he was physically uninjured. She proceeded to stand in front of him and gently moved to take his free right hand with her left if he seemed amenable to it. She didn’t speak, wanting to give him the space to process whatever was going on in his mind, though she would move to embrace him if he seemed like he needed it. She could not help but think of Jehla, her mother, and how she could make even the most forlorn of souls find a moment of peace with but the slightest touch and the right whispered words. She had not her mother’s gift for consolation, only for manipulation, and tried her best to evoke as much of that warmth and kindness as she could with her body language without the sharpness that came so easily to her.