"At... least let us go, so we can defend ourselves..."<br/><br/>Vhaern had gotten himself backed up next to solid wood near Sirka, watching her hungrily devour the chunk of sour meat with a grimace on his face. He looked at Tyora, turning away from Sirka, then up at the woman who'd played Warden with them. With a larger threat looming over them, he closed his eyes and tried to relax. Whether this Witch intended to release them or not, he couldn't sit here playing helpless anymore. He could feel warmth in his chest, radiating out through his body... warmer blood in his veins as he worked to heal his injuries. Vhaern did so gently though, no sudden rush to health, he accelerated his own body's natural functions to a higher degree. If he could only get his hands on his gear... he'd be in better than perfect condition for what they were sailing toward.<br/><br/>Finding his center, his peace, whatever small glimmer of calm he could; with his eyes closed he looked around until he could find threads floating in the air. Vhaern reached out with his will; collecting these threads to him, twisting them together into larger braids, drawing on these figments of the Fates to fill his reservoir to the brim.  Tyora and probably the Witch would be able to notice were they paying attention though the Witch seemed preoccupied. He thought being near Sirka's cage, being near her, might mask what he was trying to do.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>