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Anselm. Ti gason dyab look at me. Anselm's goldcoin eyes rose shakily to the broad face of the seaborn. Etienne's gaze was, in that moment, the only thing holding him here -- he felt ribbons of his sense of self fray, held in place only by the wholesome softness of Etienne's molten gold gaze.

You did not'in' wrong. But he had! He glanced over in terror at the seeping pool of blood, malevolently inching towards them all as if to claim them too. As if slapped back into reality by Odessia, Anselm shifted as a vile stream of vomit puddled at their feet. It took him several seconds to parse her last meal was now on the ground by them - still so mystified by...

Am I a killer now? Before the damning question could work its way loose from his throat, the woman Etienne referred to as Odessia fell to the ground. Shit. Jolted from his reverie by the woman collapsing before him, Anselm sought Etienne's eyes for guidance.

Together, the two of them hauled Odessia to safer ground. While Etienne searched for something to give her for her nausea, Anselm slowly made his way back to the corpse.

He would bury him, and feel a deep sense of shame for it.