The...thing, landed, dust obscuring Wolfram's vision as instinct hurled him backwards out of the creature's lunging range. His main hand came up to guard his vision from the gust, his eyes darting for a second to the side as his now unbound limb seemed to raise itself up like a puppet on a string. Slowly it lowered as the forward surge of air settled along with it, Wolfram's eyes turning to see Sir Morr charging across the field at the clearly unnatural thing. The guards as well were reacting, arming themselves for an assault on the beast should it take the expected action of attacking.<br/><br/>And then it did something entirely unexpected. Words were not an impossibility for a demon but, no, this was too straightforward. The thing's form was certainly twisted enough to be demonic in nature, but simplicity was not their form. Or was that the twisted trap? False simplicity, an unexpected angle to throw off thinking? A dangerous and paranoid train of thought that might run endless circles, but not necessarily a foolish one.<br/><br/>Still, if anything Morr was handling it from a position as much just out of reach as Wolfram. The man was mindful of his injuries after all; good. For now Wolfram would hold and let Morr prove the trust Wolfram had put in him. He would never trust himself to fully plunge into combat unless he had to. Unless the line had to hold once more. Then not even the doubts of his arm would hold him back. But those were ifs, not yet inevitables.