Sil looked down at Sbatarra, and realized that she was not yet dead. If the elf still survived, then it was something that Sil considered to be a wondrous feat of strength and willpower; the warlock did not deserve to die like this.Sil let her sword fall to the ground before taking Sbatarra by the underarms and hefting her into a sitting position, propped against the wall.<br/><br/>When she felt that Sbatarra would live, Sil picked up her sword again, and from her haversack drew a bottle of sandalwood oil and two silk rags. She then sat cross-legged in front of Sbatarra, wiping the blood from both of her swords with one rag, and then dribbling a bit of the oil onto her other, with which she began to rub the blades down. Though already lustrous, with the addition of the oil, they began to look like blades as black as charcoal, but somehow shone like the moons themselves. She watched intently as Sbatarra's wounds closed, and in the distance, could hear the footsteps of men. When Sbatarra was to awaken, Sil told her, "When they arrive, I will tell them to spare you. You do not yet deserve to be killed, and I will not allow it just yet, whether by my hand or by those of a bunch of men who find you so weak." Her swords were in hand, and even though she was sitting down, Sbatarra's chest was still within reach of her katana in that cramped hall.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>