Spending an hour resting against a rock as the Spirit Reather cleans up my cuts and bruises; the sun begins to slowly set over the horizon, and the cold, crisp air sets in.
"What were the odds of finding medical equipment on the destroyed caravan?" I ask the man.
He responds shortly, "It was my friend's; I knew he would carry plenty of stuff."
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Maybe if I had been more useful, I could have saved everyone. Or at least been able to save your friend. I deeply apologize."
Spirit User: Giving a puzzling look at the young boy, raising an eyebrow and giving the short response, "Have you ever been in a fight before?"
Thinking to myself, I clearly have in my previous life, but this was my first real fight where I was the active target. "No, I haven't."
