[AW] give us bread, give us salt, give us wine;

[Atreus]

Dragged by the wind, taken by the stars
Carried with the madness and scars

He has half the mind to turn his back and rejoin the others, a shift of his weight a subtle cue that it was precisely what he intended to do. If the Commander possesses a wish for death, he was keen to let her have it, but he wasn’t given the chance to even break eye contact with her before Asterion was dishing out a command to the both of them. His scowl is only somewhat concealed as he stands squarely once more, gazing down at the wreckage that was Marisol without an ounce of pity for a woman he does not know, to whom he holds no fealty.

A deep breath causes his barrel to expand and then quickly deflate as he exhales, craning his neck as he looks over his shoulder. His attention falls to those he knows as soldiers or medics, not only because he knows them to be capable in helping the Commander to her feet long enough to reach the hospital, but most importantly because he refused to do it himself. “Help me assist the fine Commander back to her feet and to the medical ward,” he instructed to those who lent their aide.

As they depart, he stays close to Marisol and does his best to make sure she maintains herself and does not push herself beyond her limits (even though she clearly already had), but before they get too far he spares a glance back toward the King and his Champion as they whisper – taking quiet note of them before focusing back at the task at hand.

@Rhone @Asterion @Theodosia @Marisol

"Speaking."

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