"For that you have my thanks, Lord," she whispered, her honeysweet voice roughened by emotion as Kynathien backed unsteadily away from them, jerking his sword from the dirt with one hand while the other pressed to the wound upon his thigh. He seemed almost unsure of how to handle the gash, as normally he would have gone to Elandriel for healing.<br/><br/>The sword lifted in a shimmering salute, his dark eyes visible on either side of the line of silver, drawn at the corners and glowering with hard-restrained anguish. "You will not be abandoned nor forgotten," he spat, and it was obvious that he used the language the human could understand on purpose, before turning to set off in a limping run for the wood, moving with surprising speed despite the injuries his priestess had been forced to lay into his body.