The elf skittered weakly back, heels digging into the forest floor as she tried to push her injured form back from him, and she brought the gleaming silver knife up between then with a soft, warning cry.<br/><br/>Her almost colorless eyes - when she lifted them to him, were filled with pain from the wounds she'd taken into herself to assist the doe, but determination as well. The priestess was not about to let herself be easily taken by a man so obviously cruel. Her lips parted, and in a soft, sussurating whisper that was almsot like wind in the trees, she began a prayer to her sweet goddess to take the wounds from her in turn.