Drake/Guy/Azalea/Conan
Conan gulped to swallow another corny retort, to swallow his fear. He had only half formed words and half formed that that he tried to insert between the adult's planning. The lack of an answer left his mind whirling around Drake's ominous command to stay alive. His small blade grew warm from the Enfire, compelling him to hold on tighter. He was ready to fight now, yes?
But before he was ready, Azalea had already concocted a plan to send him away. He whipped his head around at her suggestion, coincidentally dodging a spell cast by an undead. "Evacuate? I—can fight. I have to. We live here," he protested.
"Come on. Please." He turned to the men to see if they'd agree, but his stomach was sinking quickly, already aware that the adults would want to send him away. Again.