Rictor was pulling his sluggish limbs back into motion, the Soul Etude having washed over him and swept away the paralysis. Part of him had almost expected Ari to let him suffer, abandoning him trapped on the battlefield while she strode off to better things. Looking at Merri was easier, and so Rictor gave the mage a relieved half-smile. “Aye, I’m good. Barely a scratch on me, apart from the stone. Possibly fucking imagining things, though—did you see that green thing too?” He had studied Sauvage’s bestiaries endlessly over the course of his training, and knew most of the violent Valendian fauna—that one hadn’t been familiar, however.
But it was time to deliver his gratitude, along with a tentative look shot in the bard’s direction. Rictor could easily guess where her fuming expression came from. “Uh. Thanks, Ari,” he said, lamely.
“I didn’t see any green thing,” Ari said, poker face well-arranged. She very deliberately did not say, you’re welcome. “You must be hallucinating.”
And she ought to have left it there, really she ought to have (protecting Merri was one thing, picking a fight was another), but she couldn’t always hold her tongue on those rare occasions when he temper got the best of her, so she added, “Anyway, don’t thank me; I didn’t do it for your sake.” The knight made a small noise of bleak amusement.
She met Merri’s eyes, said, “Do you need help getting to safety? I’ll help you, but I still have something to do after.”
This time, Merri did not miss the tension between Ari and Rictor, but he knew better than to pry. Instead, he found himself relieved that the issue of Carbuncle was going to be forgotten as a trick of the eye, so he ignored Rictor’s query on him and, still feeling the discomfort of the fighter and the bard’s friction, said hesitantly, “Um… I think I can still figh--”
But when he tried to take a step, he found himself falling back, holding his head as the world spun and his entire body ached. I’m going to bleed out if I don’t get to a clinic soon, the familiar thoughts of his own psyche warned. “Yes, I could… use some help.”
Rictor took his own half-step towards the stumbling mage, one hand partially raised—but then he went still, though it went against all of his instincts.
It was like pulling teeth, but he finally said: “Best of luck, you two. I’ll cover your rear, ensure nothing comes after you down the street.”
As excuses went, it seemed a relatively safe bet. So with one last nod towards the other two (Ari still stubbornly looking away), Ric raised his claymore once more, shrugging the weight back onto his shoulders, and turned to continue down the street, guilt heavy in his chest like stone.