The blonde Elven whelpling, once again, inquired Tycondrius about his... okay-ness.
The notion was beginning to lose its meaning.
"Yes. I'm... okay?" Tycon answered-- though with less confidence than he would have liked. "Is there a conspicuous indication to me being *not* 'okay'?"
"You killed that guy," Coraline replied.
"I kill plenty of guys," Tycon groaned-- "and women! And I'm not above killing children, if the situation is appropriate."
"Wait, what?"
"I'm an equal-opportunity murderer," Tycon insisted.
"That guy you killed," Coraline said with a frown, "He already surrendered."
"He *asked* to be killed," Tycon argued.
"He asked for *mercy,*" Coraline chided. "You can't just assume that means mercy *killing.* Or were you trying to cut costs on the magical healing again?"
Tycon found himself mildly intimidated by the sapling's stare... "I named my sword 'Mercy.'"
