Bearclaw Valley I don’t want anything more from you

Although he secretly hoped that she was, by some miracle, doing a lot better, logic kept him from getting too sucked into the desire; her response further contributed to this, though the former was what really kept reality from crashing down around him too harshly. In time, her wounds would heal, he was sure of it. As long as Poet continued to tend to her, then she’d pull through, physically, and then Laurel could handle the mental and emotional aspects of her trauma—yeah, they could handle it, they’d fix her right up. And though it was his belief that they had everything covered, he still wanted to help in some way—it was what kept him by the borders, hoping that her attacker might just appear out of thin air someday so that Xan could tear out his throat—if only he would realise that he did not know the attacker his entire fantasy would come to an abrupt close but, like with many things, he remained selectively oblivious.

Nodding—he didn’t know what to say, how to console her, for he’d yet to even notice that she, too, needed someone’s support—he looked back out over Rising Sun. “Fine, for now,” he answered, looking to his right before back at her. “Want to walk with me? I haven’t checked around the walls yet.” Not that anyone could get in that way but, still, he felt better knowing that no one was even attempting it.