"I... I have some bandages," Caitlyn whimpered.
The lost child fumbled through her pack, her pitiful tears making tiny splashes onto the bloodstained tile.
Tycondrius placed his palm on top of her trembling hand.
"It's not my blood," he assured her.
"These... people..." Caitlyn started.
"I will answer your questions, child," Tycon chided, "but we will leave this place as soon as I have, do you understand?"
The tearful Witch gave a slow nod in response.
Tycon sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose with his fingers.
He felt blood.
There was so much blood everywhere...
Had he accidentally brushed his armor? Or did the blood on his helmet drip down onto his face?
Shaking his head, Tycon began to speak.
"Making's leadership tried to hide away one of their Generals," he explained. "I deemed an organized resistance to be bothersome. And thus, I... de-organized them, so to speak."
