Methuseld continued following Donovan, trying to lose the thugs in the crowd. But it wasn't working. They could see her, her specifically, and she could see their deadly eyes fixated on her with the obsession of blood-crazed hounds. The stress of the situation, of being hunted, flooded her body with adrenaline. She wasn't used to not being able to fight, to tackle her problems head-on. She'd never been so desperate, so unprepared for circumstances that she'd ever wind up in a situation like this. Dozens of thugs - her world, right now - closing in on her. No help in sight.<br/><br/>Yet suddenly there was a hand on her. She tensed, prepared to attack, but it was Donovan, who'd doubled back while she walked with her head over her shoulder. Something on her head... he hid her hair in it, then told her to hunch down. The oppressive tension of the prey in flight was blown out like a candle by Donovan, his advice a breath of fresh air. Why hadn't she thought of it?! She berated herself inwardly as double-timed it to a nearby alley.<br/><br/>"What's our plan?" She turned her head over her shoulder, shouting back to Donovan. "We need to lose these bastards before they converge and we're fighting 30 of them." In the same movement she scanned the crowd. Still thugs. But confused, angry, heading in her direction but with less focus because they didn't have a target to hone in on.<br/><br/>But also... no Aza. Azas? The girl was small, and although beautiful, she would no doubt difficult to find in the sea of heads. Grumbling, Methuseld turned back and hurried on, unaware Aza shouldn't have been her prime concern at the moment.