[Orual]

The sun was low in the sky, matching Ravion's spirits. He knelt by Ædegard, cleaning and binding his wounded wrist slowly and methodically. Ædegard would not be another casualty that he could add to his generous pile, not another disaster that he could attribute to his works. Ædegard's wrist was actually one of the nicest healing jobs he had probably ever done.

Out of his peripheral vision he saw Erundil's head snap up, and only a split second later he heard a rustling in the distance. He tied off the bandage on Ædegard's wrist and stood, peering toward the horizon.

"It is Mellonin," Erundil said, shocked. "And Gwyllion!"

Ravion threw his medicinal supplies onto the ground and tore his sword out of his scabbard. "They are being pursued!" he cried. "They cannot hold out!"

"What pursues them?" Erundil asked, squinting and straining to see, his hand on Ravion's arm.

Ravion shook his head. "I cannot tell. But let me loose--I must help them. I have failed them once! I will not so again."

He brandished his sword and, without a battle cry or any sound at all, charged towards the women and their attackers.