Fiaethe had no plans to argue with Aeotha, much less pull away from the firm grip on her arm. She moved wherever she was told and did not have much words for anything. Fiaethe was just glad that the pain was gone from her ribs, that they were in motion. Whatever there was to be done for the injured was being done to the best of the temple's ability. If she had the power to walk into the chaos and extract the living elves among it herself, she would have. But in the face of the winds, the powerful magic attacks? Fiaethe was just a living being. One that would have been dead without help.
She looked toward the column of wind. There was nothing she could do to wind outside of an attempt to make a reinforced earthen barrier...but that would take time and mental planning. And it would prove futile, since Elemmire had somehow crafted herself into a user of earth magic. The immortal had flung himself inside and no one would go after him.
Someone placed their hand on her arm and she shrugged it away. "Do you doubt her healing ability?" she chastised the paladin. "I can walk on my own feet!"
It was about as much fire as she would give right then. Fiaethe was as keen on escaping death as anyone else in this square. Until it was upon her again, she would move herself and try to stay out of the way of people who were saving her.