Had he not stayed to reign in his familiar instead of merely walking away, the Yason would have already been gone by the time Albel had emerged. But as fortune - or, perhaps, misfortune - would have it, Orha yet stood just without. Mismatched grey eyes fell onto the human. Stoic as ever, Orha looked him over and his gaze lingered at where the fabric fell differently around his stump. He said nothing; the raven, however, gave a low croon.