Loman slumped against the stone ramparts at the edge of the tower, clutching his Bow of Stars in one hand while he struggled to draw breath. Part of him yearned to release the bow so he could use what little strength he had left to heal his wounds, but the rest of him shuddered at the notion of letting down his guard around a demon-witch.
It was already bad enough that he was tacitly allowing her to do whatever she wanted with the knife she'd drawn, but the truth was that he didn't think he could stop her, even if he tried to. Beyond that, two other thoughts warred in his heart. Even though it would be heretical, part of him genuinely hoped that the diminutive witch could save his acolytes and, by extension, the men who were suffering from the rain of luminous arrows in the west gate plaza.
