She was covered in blood, lots of it. Ulrich's shirt was stained as he held her while she cauterized her wound. He watched as the flames faded and everything went still.

"Looks like I really... glossed over.... that palm reading....." She uttered.

He looked down at her with that warm smile of his, but this one was different, "I've spent a long time hiding most things about myself from others." In his eyes was the warmness, but it was stained with sadness...and guilt. 

"Mischief?"

It seems that the raven was only unconscious, and trying to stand again. Ulrich gently lay Kamille down to rush over to Mischief. He kneels down to inspect him. No major injuries that he could see on the raven. He was, indeed, only knocked unconscious. They were lucky nothing worse had happened to him.

"Aw Mischief," Ulrich says, gently scooping the raven up and petting him, "I'm sorry you had to go through that." Before he could return to Kamille, he spots something peculiar on the body of the Sword Cultist. It seemed to be a a book or journal of some sort. It hadn't been singed since Ulrich had targeted the man's upper half. Cradling Mischief, he walked over to take the item from the dead man's pocket and stuff it into his own. He quickly rushed back over to Kamille. He gently lay Mischief in her hands. He looked down at his bloody shirt and remembered that his equipment laid around somewhere.

"Hold on, Kamille. I'll get you home, don't worry." He rushed to gather his things. Jacket, satchel, cloak, and sword finally on his person. Looking down at the item he just recovered from the dead man, he stuffs it into his satchel. He appeared next to Kamille, taking Mischief and gingerly placing him inside one of his inside jacket pockets so that his head was sticking out.

She could feel Ulrich scoop her up in his arms gently. He whispered to her softly, "If you can hold onto me, please do. If not, it's alright. Mischief is used to this feeling, but you might not be." As he finished his explanation, the whispers of the wind began to envelope them. They began to float into the air above the trees, into the moonlight. He pointed in the direction of Kamille's home, and at a steady pace that was comfortable for both her and Mischief, they flew through the night over the trees below.

As they flew, his mind wanders to the book he's just taken. He flashes back to a night in Kamille's home where he heard conversation just outside. Sarne and Kamille had been drinking it had seemed. He thought nothing of it, but then Kamille implied something that gave him a bit of concern. She's helping them for a reason, she wants something. The Sol Stone? He deliberated, should he mention the book to her or keep it secret? He cared for her, but this implication for her desire to find the Stone troubled him.

He would keep the book from her. There was no way for him to know how she would feel about it if she ever found out. Maybe she would hate him? Maybe the next time they met each other it wouldn't be as friends. Right now, all he knew was that he needed to make sure that she made it back to her home.

Kamille was fighting to keep her consciousness from slipping, but it was clear she wouldn't be able to go too far with her own two legs. Mischief let out a soft caw when Ulrich picked him up, and that seemed to make Kamille a bit more at ease - at least the raven looked like he would be fine.

If she noticed some of Ulrich's movement around the place that night, she didn't register it properly - her memory of it would be covered in a thick fog later. She remembered fighting the cultists, and then safely waking up in her own bed. She had a vague idea of the sensation of leaving the ground, but that could be just a dream. She had a vague notion of being carried, and when she realized it was Ulrich, she clinged to him with what remained of her strength.

Some part of her relaxed into his arms - or maybe she just finally fainted, her hands still clutched to his jacket.

In between her wavering state of consciousness, her mind fog and the blood loss, she heard something about him telling her he would take her home. She closed her eyes, laying her head on his shoulder.

"I know... I trust you, Ulrich....."

"I know... I trust you, Ulrich....."

Those words uttered weighed heavy in his heart. He'd just made the choice to keep something from her yet again. Only this was something she desperately needed to obtain the thing she desired.

She may never say those words to me again...

He was broken from his contemplation— Kamille's home coming into view— as the tree line gave way to the hills and river that her home sat in between. He slowed their speed as they floated near the window he assumed must lead to her room upstairs. He gently pushed it open with his foot. The window looked large enough for them to fit through. It took a bit of work to gently float through, but he made it work.

He gently landed on the floor— careful to not make too much noise. He lay Kamille on her bed, and gingerly pulled Mischief from his jacket pocket. It seemed as though the raven had regained a bit more consciousness. So Ulrich placed him on the nightstand close to Kamille. Mischief sat there, groggily observing the familiar surroundings.

He'd need to take Kamille's bloody blouse off so that he could effectively clean the blood from her. He cleared his throat, and gingerly proceeded to take her blouse off. The whole time keeping his gaze up, only looking down to make sure he'd successfully taken it off. Once that was done, he hung it somewhere it wouldn't make a mess. He took a cloth and began to clean any blood he could see— taking some clean medical wraps he'd found— and bandaging her shoulder. He wasn't a medical expert, but he did the best he could do— given the circumstances.

He turned to Mischief who sat in the nightstand a little more alert now. He whispered, "Okay Mischief, it's your turn to take care of her." The raven nodded back to him, and Ulrich quietly made his way to the open window. He glanced back over his shoulder with a soft smile before floating out into the night.

Now he needed to do something about his bloody shirt. He glanced down to the river below, back to his shirt, and then back to the river again. "Right. Let's do something about you now, shall we," he said to his shirt. If it wasn't dry in the morning, he'd just say he was out training as everybody awoke.

[Exit]