Azrael frowned, 'Now this could be troublesome.'
Not long ago, he'd seen a woman lose her sister. In her grief, she tried to interrupt the healers' work in the camp, so he had been forced to beat some sense into her.
It would be bad if history repeated itself.
"Now that I think about it," he muttered, "I didn't even bother checking how she was before disappearing."
He scratched his chin, only to shrug a second later.
"Probably still useless."
His crimson armor trembled slightly, absorbing the blood that had splattered from the slain monster.
He shifted his gaze on the Chosen. He was waiting to see if there would be an outburst or if she would be able to keep it together.
'You better keep it together, I went through enough shit to save you.'
Slowly the battered Chosen turned, taking slow steps toward Azrael. Her sister's lifeless body hung in her arms, swaying side to side.
"Thank you for saving us," she said. She tried to bow, but her trembling body wouldn't let her.
