Dragoncrest Cliffs I am holy now the water's hit me

His worried thoughts were yearning to dart in every direction at once. He can't see enough, nor discern enough with the vague scents and the worrisome injuries presented before him, and only feels the indefinite feeling of defeat. He knew he wanted her and Dalia both somewhere safer, deeper--just closer, wherever they could be treated the best and most mindfully so they could sort this out. Soon, as he pressed himself protectively against Portia, others came, Heda first among them and details soon followed. An ugly rage simmered in the pit of his stomach and he held his tongue tight against clenched teeth. Hows and whys came to him in a hurry, but looking at the both of them, he just wanted to get them away from everything, and protect--yet how? Now when the damage was already done?

Still, he rumbled deeply with the names taken to heart, and just when a thousand questions were on the tip of his tongue, Rose arrived. His ears splayed and she brought supplies, prompting him with a quick look between the medics to confirm before he did anything. Used to taking Portia's orders on these sorts of things (albeit not when she was the one wounded), he'd cooperate, and not get in anyone's way as he breathed deep the scent of the all the herbs between all of his glances at Portia's mangled leg.

With that, he was especially quick to take to the notion of getting them elsewhere, though. "I agree. I can help," he said, sure Artaax could too, although he'd bear the weight of them both if he had to--every last ounce that their injuries and fatigue would not allow. Portia requested her den, which was his ideal too anyway, but at their call, he was more than ready to get this moving on away from their fringes--wherever that was besides not here.