The dark youth's hand reached out to Tobias's chest. The broken soldier's remaining hand held its broken partner in defeat; not lifting as Talen's hand pressed against his chest. It could have ended there, a release of the energy already primed in Talen's hand would remove the last threads of resistance from the soldier. It would be easy... too easy. Talen gripped Tobias's shirt and pushed the soldier backwards into a sitting position on one of the tables. The youth's feet trudged through the thick blood soaked carpet. The room was a mess, littered with the debris of the fight. Now Talen's and Tobias's bloody foot prints were added to the calamity.

Behind Talen the sound of guards running echoed up from the stairs. The men's loyalty to their leader overriding their orders was another indication to the young shadowmancer that Tobias was not a blood thirsty savage like some of the other Crimson Hand. It was because of that, and despite himself, that Talen tore a strip of sleeve off Tobias's hurt arm. Talen wrapped the fabric above the break and pulled it tight. The flowing blood slowed to a trickle with the make-shift tourniquet. Talen's hands were covered with the soldier's blood as he stepped back, but this time it could be washed off.

“You're on the wrong side Little Hand.” Talen's voice was soft as the guards burst into the room. The youth's blue eyes stared at Tobias's face for a moment longer and then he was gone, replaced with a quickly dispersing fog.

Talen reappeared outside the room. His body once against covered with the dark cloak that had accompanied him. It flicked in the air as Talen took flight. The boy kept his hands by his sides as he flew, he wouldn't look at them again until he had a chance to wash off the blood.