Kiernan/Mag/Ophion
The children had been a harrowing enough sight for him to grit his teeth and cease his own line of joking, and he nodded at Mag to continue forward. He wished that the Mist was so Faram-damned heavy, just so that he might be able to see Lucy when she showed, and he kept his eyes to the sky so intently that he nearly ran into the body of a man whose face he'd rather not see under even the best of conditions.
"You," he countered, and he tried his very best not to imagine Ophion Barnard with a more youthful face or, worse, Elwen's face. This was not the time. Still, he couldn't help but to tighten his grip on the spear and stiffen his shoulders, and when he grinned, it showed of an obvious strained effort. "Don't suppose you're out here to help?"
Another gut-wrenching crack resounded in the distance in the direction of the large, shadowy creature. Above that din, Kiernan heard an all-too familiar roar.
"Luce," he murmured. He pursed his lips. "Let's go. If you're coming--" A pointed look at Barnard. "--try to keep up."