"No such thing as 'just a scratch'," Piero answered without hesitation.  Peeling back Lydalia's blood-soaked sleeve, he examined the cut with a critical eye and nodded to himself.  "Shouldn't need stitches, but it'll scar.  And this'll sting."  With that he removed a cloth from a belt pouch and soaked it with one if the flasks he carried, then cleaned the long cut carefully. Finally, he bound it tightly with a linen bandage.<br/><br/>"It's a pleasure to meet you Squire Imos.  Squire Damen."  He glanced at the strange woman who'd joined them, barely registering her as he thought.  He was far from the observational and tactical master that his Mistress was, but he'd been trained in the arts of memory.  In his mind's eye he was wslking the halls of his Palace of Memory, viewing the crystal that stored the endless seconds of the battle...<br/><br/>He blinked.  "The Ordallian knight that took the Moogle fled through the eastern gate eight minutes ago.  He was running - approximately 54 inches per pace and one pace every 4 seconds.  That means..."  Pursing his lips, he calculated furiously.  "He's no more than one and a quarter miles away.  But with a prize like a live Moogle he'll double back at some point and head east.  Make for Ordallia."<br/><br/>Realization flamed in his eyes.  "If we act now, we can catch him!"