Quietly, the newcomers began tending the wounded. Even Brethor stopped raging long enough to care for the wounded, and Davin eyed his movements darkly. The merchant cared for his companions, clearly; in battle, Brethor had fought much like a father protecting his family. Davin forced his gaze away from Marianna, the delicate flower of a girl that had been so entranced by him, now pale and weeping, her blood darkening the earth. His heart tightened with guilt, or something like it -- but he quickly suppressed that gnawing feeling and looked to the woman who was demanding to know what happened.
An elf. Davin’s shoulders sagged with relief; surely this woman would be sympathetic to her own people. Holding her gaze, he slowly pushed himself to his feet and took several uneven steps forward. There was no need for the whole camp to hear what he had to say quite yet.
“Ser,” he breathed, “These humans you see conspired to sell our people… to the Tevinter.” His voice was low and imploring, more intimate than respectful, rich with the familiarity of kinship.
Davin scanned the campsite, pointing after a moment to the body of young Voren, one of the first to fall. The elf boy was no fighter, that much had been certain. He had died without dignity.
“You will want to search the boy,” said Davin softly. “He was the one who uncovered the plot; he should still have the correspondences on him. As you will see, my people were simply seeking to defend themselves from the foulest of treachery."