If the man meant to speak, his efforts betrayed him. Tobias watched as the Elf lacked all the grace and nobility of his species and even came to tears. There was a pang of empathy in his chest, but the Mercenary had learned from experience never to show weakness.

It was that thought which made him question himself. "He said to find my way," Tobias muttered, "I wonder if this was what he meant." He eyed Elthas carefully before he spoke again, this time audibly.

"You seem conflicted," he began. "Is there something I can help you with? I'm a mercenary, you see; and helping people is my profession." The Mercenary stepped forward once and offered his hand, palm up to the pained man.

The village grew still and silent around them, a macabre memorial for its fallen. In that lack of response and the sullen emotions that followed, Tobias became nearly as taciturn as the Elf. Both men were grim company.

The leaves had turned five days prior, and already the trees were nearly barren. Autumn wind hinted to the Mercenary of a cold, ferocious Winter. He steeled his resolve against the chill that threatened to grip his heart and managed to smile.

"Come on, let's get out of the cold," he suggested, "once the sun sets, you'll catch your death of it without shelter."