Northstar Vale plenty of folk want our kind dead

She went as quickly and succinctly as she could. There was no room for hesitation or a wobble in direction—the results could be disastrous. 

The moment she was certain she might have gotten the entire rot, she grasped the moss, bent low, holding it tightly to him. No doubt this was a sight—the blood along her nape and spattered to her cheek—and surely there were bushes tears of her own, grimacing at the very idea of putting anyone in such pain. 

Wild-eyed and apologetic, she searched down to him, almost hoping maybe he would pass out and find a bit of relief.