Christian | Issac | Elia
Distractedly, Elia nodded at the demon's conclusion in regards to the field. War, yes. The American South was littered with battlegrounds such as this one, some more famous than others. This one had experienced enough bloodshed to taint the ground, even better than a century later. Christian had a better sense of it than she did; death was not the stuff of magic, and even a dark witch such as herself had limited contact with the long-dead.
She glanced back at Issac for confirmation; he had more experience with the dead than she did. "Different because it isn't magic, so to speak. Life and death are natural forces. I deal with all the things in between." So the powers of the spirits would be less apparent to her, undoubtedly the source of the there-and-gone taste on the back of her tongue.
Her lips twitched at the sight of him there, snuggled up to his 'favorite' of the darklings. He had always enjoyed the little shadow monsters, and that had always made him wonderful in Elia's book. But then he seemed to sway, his eyes closed, and the breath seemed to catch in his throat. Elia reached for him, steadying him with a hand on his arm even as her minion hissed and chittered in his arms, looking intently out into the dark. The others were acting in similar ways, responding to things that the witch couldn't see or hear.
"Issac?" The cool darkness of her magic shifted, wrapping around him protectively, ready to cushion him if he should sway again.