(1310-12-26) The Trail Grows Hotter
Summary: Helene has more luck than Eneas in following trail, and they discuss their next options.
RL Date: 2019-01-09 & 10
Related: Shortest Day Disappearances Plot
eneas helene 

Le Bausset

A town two days ride east of Marsilikos


The arrival to the small town is without incident except for the mud and rain that seems to keep coming in spurts and stops. No one is going to be very comfortable at all during this time between being wet and cold. It'll be a wonder that they aren't all sick by the time this is over with!

The inn master is quick to hand over keys to their best and only rooms, his son taking the horses into the stables to give them good rub downs and food, setting them up for the evening while keeping an eye out of the promised others that would be joining the lady. When asked about where the best places are for supplies, the inn master would point Hélène to the single shop that sits across the road from the inn and stables, near to another tavern that seems to suit the commoners that might be passing through.

When Hélène arrives in the town, the first place she goes is the inn to secure rooms, stabling, and even take a few minutes to change into dry clothes, and remove the breeches from under her gown for reasons of presentability. That done, she makes her way into the township itself, taking advice from the innkeep on where to purchase the supplies she needs. Soon enough she has found an outfitter who can sell her two sets of clothing, breeches, socks, and woollen shirts that are much too big for her, but will be warm at least, and can always be given to Eneas or Jean-Marc if they last long enough. Then a fur lined coat, and a pair of somewhat worn leather boots she must lace tightly, but she can trade off with the ones she brought. Finally, some jute rope is added to the pile and she reaches for her coin purse. She had been chatting animatedly with the storekeeper as she shopped, always happy to talk about trade, and engage the latest gossip. She laughs as the shopkeeper asks about the unusual attire for a woman, but she amusedly points out the terrible weather for travel means making some compromises to keep the chill out. She is kind, but self-deprecating, her demeanor one she has previously used to help disarm people. She is just passing coin over when she asks as well, "By the way, I am trying to find a peddler that might have been through here. He was a marvel back in Marsilikos. I think he was… Tsingano maybe? I'm terrible with accents. Not d'Angeline though, could be Caerdicci…."

When Hélène enters the shop, the husband and wife owners will call out greetings to her, the husband helping someone with a few items, leaving the wife to talk with Hélène. There will be much discussions about the things she wants, and the odd wardrobe that Hélène has chosen, but even the mistress of the shop cannot deny how helpful it would be against the wet and cold.

"Don't you just hate the winter? If it's not trying to snow and ice, it's raining, making it all muddy. " The woman says as she wraps the items up, keeping a running tally in her head. Once certain there is nothing more that Hélène might way or need, she offers the total for what she is buying. When asked, the woman hmms for a moment, "We've had a few come through in the last day or so? Heading east along the road." Seeing that her husband has finished, the man he was helping heading out, she speaks up to him, "Henri, what say you? Peddlers that came through?" He joins the two, and confirms his wife's thoughts, "A couple, yes. One stopped at the inn, the other only stopped long enough to fetch some food and wine and feed for their horses."

As for Eneas and the other mean that took the other road… they find nothing. Not a darn thing. No tracks that lead off the road, no one who remembers anything about any peddlers passing through. Not to mention, there's a few times their horses almost get stuck in mud. There's one guy that gets bucked off his horse and lands in a stream and is likely sneezing by the time they reach the inn.

"East from here? I'll have to try and find them. I don't know if they stopped to sell here but they had the most magnificent toys, and I rather think I owe Jean-Marc's youngest something special for taking her father away for so long," Hélène answers with a pointed look, and a bright grin for her eldest guard. She left the other one travelling with them across the street. "I wonder if they are the same… I mean, we've been following the coast, so it might be out of the way if the errand is for naught. Did you see what kind of cart they were travelling with?" She takes a moment to look around the shop again, and spies a stack of rough paper, pointing to it she adds, "And I'll take a few sheets of that too." More coin is added to what is already being counted out. She is a good customer, liable to buy more the longer she stays.

"Right, east." The husband says, pointing out the door and along the main road that heads out of town in the direction the party has yet to travel. When the paper is pointed out to, he moves to fetch a number of sheets, "Do you have need of ink or quills?" Making sure the lady is well stocked in her writing implements!

The wife chuckles, then considers, "The one who stayed, had some nice items. All sorts of things. I even bought a bolt of fabric to make some new curtains with." As for toys, she hmms, slowly shaking her head, "I'm not sure what the other had. What I could see looked like carpets, but he had it covered with canvas. I think they were intent on making some deadline or another."

Hélène's eyes narrow slightly at the mention of the carpets and such, and she shakes her head, "Oh I don't know if they are the same. The one I was looking for was green with all kinds of little drawers under the tarpaulin. It's how they kept and showed their wares. Oh, some ink please. I might still try them, just in case. Do you know if they /were/ Tsingano? Like I said, I have a terrible ear for accents." Now she pays for her merchandise, adding a few extra ducats, "for the help." She gives the woman a smile and leans in, "And I will be sure to stop by again when I am on my way back. Or send my companions here if they need anything." With that, she looks ready to go.

Nodding, the husband will fetch a small bottle of their best ink, bringing it along to be wrapped carefully by his wife. While she thinks about the peddlers, it is the husband that answers, "They were not Tsingano, even if they sort of favored them. I heard them speaking, and it wasn't that. Sounded foreign, and it wasn't Caerdicci or Aragonian or even Skaldi." He would know those languages at least.

The wife smiles, patting her husband's arm, "He's got a better ear for such things than I do." As for the comment, she nods, "Send them in and we'll get them sorted out if we have what they need." The shop does have a bit of everything one might need in town or along the road!

The business accomplished, Hélène starts to walk back across the street, her packages in hand. Jean-Marc accompanies her, his hands free in case any need should arise as he usually does. She speaks for a moment on the letters she intends to send, just updates to Gal and to Marco to be carried with the next mail coach to pass through.

It is likely shortly after that, that the group of riders makes it into town. No livery of Mereliot to be seen, so far, though one rider clearly soaked through and muddy. Surely they might look the part of a small detachment of mercenaries at best to the village-folk, or deserters or raiders at worst, armed as they are, but muddy and somewhat unkempt. Ahem.

Eneas mood is more than gloomy. It is darkest night with lightning flashes and as always he is not good at hiding it, even if he — contrary to what some might say! — thanks the men for their day's work and hands out coin so they can purchase wine, food and a bath if they wish. And surely they wish. Once they figured out where the Verreuil has arranged for lodgings for the lot, that is.

There is only one inn in the town, and so solving for that is not hard. Hélène is sitting by the fire in the inn, her parcels left upstairs, unwrapped on the bed. Rooms were divided by size, based on how many people would be in them, rather than saving the best necessarily for herself and Eneas, so it is likely smaller than the one from the night before. When the party walks in, she rises and just points to the stairs, walking over to show Eneas where he can change. Jean-Marc, having already eaten is out walking the town, occasionally stepping back into the inn.

Solving for the only Inn in town? Are we sure we want to trust Eneas with that how the day has been going so far? Ahem

Eventually someone will be successful at investigating where that Inn is, and when the group enters, their horses being watered, fed and cared for, Eneas just shakes his head at Hélène in silent report of how well the day went, perhaps not having the heart to say it out loud. Being pointed to the room, he does stomp up, and once inside, starts to tug at the cloak and jacket to get the wet attire off him, so he can hang them near the fire. His movements are angry, frustrations apparent, but he is not cursing at least, right?

Hélène waits until the damp shirt is laid aside before walking up him, her arms wrapping tightly around his waist. She places a kiss on the centre of his back before leaning her cheek against it and speaking, "Would you like some good news Eneas?" Her voice is soft, and her embrace firm, trying to lend him a bit of her own reserves of strength and composure. Her cheek and hands are warm whereas his skin is cold from the damp and chill of his day.

The touch, when it first comes, has Eneas' back stiffen at first. It is not a good idea to touch angry people, even less when they can't see it coming. And yet, after a moment Eneas tilts his head backwards, to exhale a long, forceful breath ceiling wards. So perhaps there is a bit of silent cursing of the Gods and Companions there. Ahem. Only then does he lift his own hands, to cover hers.

The question, however has him snorting faintly. "And what, pray tell, could there be as good news on this wretched day?", he wonders, half turning to try to look at Hélène, but surely, the slip of a woman can actually hide behind his back. Ahem.

So he tries to loosen her arms enough so he can turn around in them, shaking his head a little. He is discouraged. "Nothing, Hélène. Nobody seen anything, heard anything. Some of them even refused money, because they could not even think of a good lie to get some coins!".

She isn't fighting him, so when he loosens Hélène's grip, it takes little force. She gives him a faint smile, and raises a hand to cup his cheek gently, thumb running his jawline tenderly to rest near his chin, "I had better luck love. They passed through here within the last day. A pair of peddlers who stopped to get food, and some supplies from the road and stay at the inn a short while. Well one of them came here while the other got supplies. Definitely not d'Angeline, and with rolled up carpets in their wagon. They left via the east road. It will be too dark to catch them tonight, but if they are travelling along the main roads, we might be able to catch them tomorrow, or the following morning, if we don't push the horses too hard."

Eneas frowns as she begins to talk. Better luck? And yet, when she continues, he seems to grow more animated, though there is a bit of a wary suspiciousness about the sudden change of fortunes. "That.. that does sound like them, doesn't it?", he takes another deep breath, to release it on a sigh, especially when she speaks of it being too dark. "But…Hélène. A day!", he does not turn to grab his shirt to pull it back on. Yet. But surely she might catch him looking at it as if he is considering it. "If we know the road, we could…be within a mile or so of them before daybreak…". Of course that would mean forced marsh of tired people. In the night. There is a moment where Eneas expression wavers, perhaps realizing the dangers of such a plan, but the temptation is there.

Hélène simply puts her hands on her hips and gives him a stern look, her head shaking emphatically. "Your men can't take it, and neither can the horses. They need rest. If you march them too long in this muck, their hooves will rot. Let everyone dry out, and eat, and rest, and we will leave at first light."

Hélène steps forward to the bed where she removes the rope and paper from the top of her pile, and pulls one of the clean, dry shirts out. Turning around she holds it out to him, her other hand outstretched to take back the still damp one he was threatening to replace. "It's mine, mind you, but it should work well enough to get some food in you Eneas." Actually it will likely fit him better than her, on whom it will need to be tied up lest it fall nearly to her knees.

There will come a knock to the door, likely the sound one they know well enough of belonging to Jean-Marc. For someone who's likely as tired as they, the knock is persistent, and he soon calls out to them both, "It's important!"

When leave is given, and the door unlocked or opened, he steps in and shoves a hand towards Eneas to drop something into his hand when it's given over. It's a couple of muddy scraps of blue material. That very /particular/ shade of blue. "Found one near the stables. The other was on the eastern road, just outside the city." This, paired with the information that Hélène found out, would point to them being on the right path after all.

Eneas had just reached for the offered shirt, as the knocks come. Keep coming. "By Naamah's sagging tits, yes! I am coming!", Eneas finally yells, and does indeed open the door, letting the older man step inside, only to be trust the garb into his hand as he passes. One hand is pushing the door closed behind him, while the other opens to peer at the fabric. Yes, Eneas is very well acquainted with that particular shade of blue, the style of weave even. Blue eyes widen, peer at the older man, as he explains, and for a moment he can only nod his head.

"I am sorry I called your tits saggy…", he finally murmurs to the Companion, before he nods his head again, peering at Hélène. "She is tearing her robes as they go along…".

Hélène reaches to take his hand in her own, holding it tightly, and nodding, "And we will find her Eneas. And taking your temper out on me will not help you here. I said I would do as you told, but I did not mean to the point of risking the entire expedition." Her voice is level and calm, and while he can tell she is frustrated, she is also keeping her voice and demeanor neutral, trying hard to only offer support.

It is Jean-Marc who speaks next, smirking as he retorts, "What about my tits Lord d'Aiglemort? Do you still think they are saggy too?" He offers a generous smile, the yelling clearly not even needing to be forgiven, and his own years giving him empathy for the younger man. He does ask as well, given Eneas is still half dressed, "Should I leave you, have dinner sent up?"

It is Hélène who shakes her head, "No, better everyone sees us together, and with more hope than Eneas here left them with. I'll head down at least." she looks to Eneas and asks, "Love? Are you coming." And for once there is no innuendo.

The news that evidence has been found, combined with the ceasing of the incessant rains though is enough to make the pair change their minds, and their own words that inspires the men along to comply. So soon enough, with coin given the innkeepers, they are packing up again to make for the road by lantern light. Hélène took the time to change at least into the warm clothing she has bought, a wistful glance given Eneas as they pack up once more before leaving again.

Jean Marc rides along near the fore of the group, regularly siting tracks fresh enough to be theirs. He even finds another scrap of cloth in the mud not far before the next township, only a few hours in.

Eneas takes care to not move too swiftly. They are moving and the wagon surely is not. Every step, even if slower than he would like is making them gain ground. A broken leg on a horse will not.

Lanterns held high to give Jean Marc a chance to see, keeping the light on his back and none in his eyes, Eneas cannot help but to complain a little. "And here we depend on the old man's keen eyesight? He might look grey like an owl, but…". Or perhaps it is a sign of his slowly improving spirits that he teases the man so. When he does however find the next piece of cloth, Eneas clasps his shoulder in approval. "On the right trail…". On /a/ trail, really, ever since that journey began.

He sees better than most, Hélène assures Eneas softly. As before she occasionally reaches out for his hand for a moment on assurance, but otherwise follows. The smile she has for Jean-Marc though when he finds the cloth is bright. Remind me to give you a raise, and a holiday.

When the group reaches the next town, the inn there is a tad smaller than the one they left. But, it's at least warm, clean, and welcoming to the group. With only a few rooms to offer, some of the guards will have to be content to just pull up a blanket on the floor downstairs. It's better than sleeping outside, right?

Hélène's charming demeanor will get the news that yes, the peddler did pass through the town late during the afternoon the day before, but didn't stop beyond picking up a few items of food once more. They left, still heading eastwards. Eneas, talking to those in the stables, will pick up on news that there were two men in the wagon, that one stayed with it and seemed fairly protective of it, while the other went in for supplies.

It is well past midnight by the time they regroup at the next inn, likely nearing two or so in the morning, and the men are tired, as of course is Hélène even if her exhaustion is tempered by the thrill of their discoveries. The accommodations are similar to the last ones, with a guard taking kip on the floor in the main dining room by the fire while beds enough are found for the rest, albeit they are all shared. Hélène stands for a moment by the fire, her shirt untucked from her breeches, and boots set next to the warmth to dry by sunrise hopefully. Without the rain, at least it is only her socks and boots this time that need to dry. She moves her hands to her hips, toes scuffing on the hearth, and eyes unfocused, rest on the flames.

Clothes left hung to dry, at least the set they used this day. With the rain that has stopped, they are making headway, both on the trail they found and on the battle against the ever present dampness and the seeping cold that comes with it. Putting on one of the spare shirts he has packed in Poly's saddle bags to keep only moderately damp, Eneas will come upstairs and into the room after washing through the other two sets with soapy water briefly and then moves to hang them near the fire. They will be smoky, but they will be dry, right?

A glance is given to Hélène as she stands there, like this, and he smiles faintly. "Go to bed, dear. You're asleep on your feet.".

"I am far too nervy to sleep Eneas," she answers softly, "Or too drained, I do not know." She shifts on her feet, now the other toe pushing into the flagstones at the hearth instead. Hélène lets out a deep sigh, and it is clear, and no doubt he has seen it before, the crash that comes after the adrenaline, and the rush of thoughts that can overwhelm the mine, especially one that already overthinks. She takes the advice to heart at least a little though, as hands move to undo the lacing on the breeches, but stop partway through the task.

Eneas surely has, a million times. And might have gone through it a million times. He does not reply at once, finishes to hang the shirts, and the small clothes and socks, before he does. "If you stand and stare into the fire, your mind will keep churning.", he says, gently enough, before he turns to step up to her, especially when her hands stop midway. Stepping up to her, he seeks to find her hands, and lightly nudge them out of the way, to tug at the lacings himself, to undo them and while he cannot help but to smirk faintly at it, it is hardly in a way that is enticing or even teasingly. "If it keeps churning, you will remain alert for threats that never comes. If you are alert, the mind keeps churning.". Yes, it is a vicious cycle. "Try to lay down. Close your eyes. Break the cycle. Or I can bring up a pitcher of wine or some spirits and put your mind to rest in other ways.". Perhaps the Verreuil might get a glimpse now why the merc is so fond of Taverns.

"If they came through this afternoon, do you think we will catch them tomorrow?" Hélène asks, her hands falling loosely to her sides. No, she does not stop him, but neither does she assist him, far too tired, and distracted to consider other distractions tonight. "I… I do not know what my role is then. I do not know how I can be useful except in the chase. I mean, you…" She stops herself, no she will not go there tonight. They both know her skills have been invaluable, and her patience, and kindness have been a marked contrast with his tendency to push through people like bull.

"The chances are good that we do.", Eneas agrees, though once the laces and buttons are undone, there is not much he can do to take the breeches off other than to tug them down her legs or make her sit down to do so, so hands instead lift to settle at her waist, blue eyes to lift to regard her as she starts to ramble, only to stop again. "There are still a thousand ways things go wrong. But yes, we might catch them in the morrow. All we heard, it was only two men with the wagon. Unless they met reinforcements on the way from here to wherever they are going? We have the numbers.", he states, trying to assure her. Yes, he is aware that they also have the hostages, but that is something to worry about once they have them in sight. Give them no time to act. Ahem.

"Your role, Hélène, will be to stay safe. You…brought us this far, and we all will need your help once we have the Adept and Gwen, too.". They need to bring them back, afterwards. Or is that what he means? "…a kind face. That is not a men will sooth their frayed minds.". How does the merc know that? Well, he told her they freed slaves before, albeit from the Skaldi.

Hélène nods at that and takes his hands her own for a moment, if only to remove them from her waist so she can sit on the edge of the bed and finish removing the breeches. She folds them into a neat pile and sets them beside the bed before tugging at her oversized shirt to do the same with it. Fortunately the fire is still going, and the room is warm enough because she does not crawl into the bed yet, but rather sits there, shoulders hunched forward with her hands on her knees.

"I have thought about that too," she finally answers, her chin starting to nod, "It will be at least as slow returning as getting there given some will have to be on foot, unless we can catch a ship home and send the horses with a guard. "I would… I would expect it best to bunk Gwenaelle and Lois together, albeit it for the latter's sake. I can stay with them, or with the guards. I.. I don't mean to suggest that you would not be welcome with Gwen Eneas; it's not that, I'm just concerned with Lois not being comfortable with anyone else. They have shared experience, and that builds comfort and safety. If we the port is open, I should have a ship waiting in the next port, and that would only mean one night's travel back. I can see they are comfortable in the Officers' quarters, and the rest of us can double up with the crew if need be." Hélène sighs, she is still going through the permutations.

Eneas lets her sit down, crouching even, to help her pull the breeches off her feet, so she can pull her legs out of them completely, before letting her fold them. Watching her for a moment as she goes through those permutations, plans upon plans upon contingencies he does have to chuckle. They are too alike sometimes. "Minutia.", he tells her, almost at a whisper, before he seeks to cup her cheek in his hand, to tilt her head upwards. "If they need their own room, we will make it happen. If they need a healer, we will send riders to drag someone there. Whatever makes them safe, and whole. But none of this will be complicated. Not compared to what we went through so far. Or what the next day will bring.". It amuses him, on some level, to see her like this, and he is not trying to hide it even if he could. "Your mind was running a thousand thoughts a heartbeat for days, Hélène. It thinks it has to for the rest of your days…", he tries to make it take another turn, perhaps. And yet, he tilts his head. "Gwen will hate me if we put them on a ship.", he states.

"My mind is always running Eneas, I just don't always share what I am thinking love. i can rest when I'm dead. Isn’t' that what they say? " she tells him half-heartedly, noting the amusement on his face. "And minutiae matter. It is the little, everyday things that make a difference in my experience, things like someone sorting out where people are sleeping and if there is enough food." She sighs again, and reaches up to place a hand over his, her eyes half closing as she turns and nuzzles into it. "Hmm, she doesn't like sailing?" Hélène answers, that at least something concrete she can grab onto and perhaps address.

She might be stubborn, but Hélène at least can take a hint when it is physically pushing her back, and so she does lie down, scooting along the bed so she can get under the covers. she watches and listens as he finishes getting ready for bed himself before coming to join her. Turned on her side, head propped up on her elbow, Hélène answers, "Sea-sick? It happens, nothing to be ashamed of. There are remedies of course, but… I admit, I still think it would be safer and faster to risk a night of sea-sickness in a covered cabin rather than days of walking back through the mud and the rain, but I am not the one who gets seasick."

And join her, he does, slipping under the covers to face her, tugging the cover up over both of their shoulders, unless she protests, so he can tug her closer, at least draw one of her legs over his, so they can keep a bit distance between their faces and not get all cross-eyed. Once more the gesture would perhaps normally invite mischief from either, but the touch is light, the caress more soothing and for comfort than to invite play. "Mhm. Apparently there aren't any tonics that help, that she found yet.". Eneas lets Hélène know, but nods. "But I agree. A day she will have to endure.". Eyes close for a moment, a deeper breath taken. "Especially since we do not know what state they are in. If they fought during the capture. Or how they were kept quiet during the travel…", his eyes reopen, narrowed. It is not something Eneas has forgotten are possibilities.

Soothing touches between them, trying to get each other to unwind as good as possible in the situation. A nod is given to her reminder that she is aware enough to leave a trail. There is a hint of dark thoughts at that in his eyes, but he does not voice what he was thinking. At first, at least, for as she continues, speaks of unpleasant thoughts, Eneas leans in to kiss her lips lightly, lowering his voice, as if speaking them too loud might risk making them true. "I know. I have been hoping for many horrible things, Hélène, for it meant it was more likely they'd survive. That they got away before the port closed was one of them. If they thought the noose was tightening too tight around their necks…".

"And instead of a noose they have us Eneas, leaving a trail behind them, not in front, that they may not even know about. A pair of nobles riding from Marsilikos to Caerdicca Unitas? Maybe less likely this time of year, but not uncommon, and certainly not about to raise any eyebrows. The heir of a Baronnie travelling with a group of guards through ports and maybe even mountain passes? It is all so very expected my love," se assures him. "And yes, sometimes we hope for something slightly worse because the final outcome is better. We make sacrifices, and sometimes we ask the same of others. You know, if we are able to track them closer, we can possibly swing around front and lay a trap?"

And here she goes and tries to take it literal? Eneas opens his eyes to give her one of his looks when he thinks she knows she is deliberately obfuscating the point, even as she lists the million reasons why it is not unlikely to find an entourage riding these roads. And yet, in the end, she says it the same, does she not. "Encircle them. Like a noose. Yes.". That was his point, and she knew it! Ahem.

Still, lifts his chin a little, to exhale a bit more forcefully and not send a jet of air in her face. Perhaps just clip her forehead and send some of her hair askew. "I have thought about it. But if they change paths we'd not be any wiser. So we would have to split, one part trailing behind, the other in front. And then it becomes a gamble of timing. While blindfolded.". A pause, two. "Unless the trap is designed to delay them so we can shift the odds to our favor. But anything I can think of, they are likely to avoid."

Hélène takes a deep breath through her nose, her teeth worrying her lower lip for a moment before she tentatively suggests, "We know they stop at inns for supplies, and are taking the main road. They are pushing through and not stopping for full trade. If we get ahead, we can lay a trap at an inn, wait until they separate, and go for the wagon. Send a couple of guards to take the other, the one out doing the shopping, and entrap the other. You can use me Eneas, to distract, and then go for the man. As soon as I am free, I can go to release the women. As you have said, my face might be taken more kindly than a man's."

At first Eneas does listen, as he usually does, despite appearances. There is some scepticism about the plan of ambushing them in a village or near an inn. But before he may voice his concern about bystanders getting brave for not knowing who is doing the right thing in such a struggle, she goes on and the response might be a bit more vehement than he had aimed for. "No!". A shake of his head, before he tampers his voice a little again. "No. If they smell the fire, they will get violent, Hélène. If they are caught, they know they will die one way or the other, and you will be in arms reach?", he shakes his head again, not liking that plan at all, apparently. "Did you not say you did not want to add another hostage before we even left town?". Never mind that faint tightening of his hand on her thigh.

Hélène tenses slightly at the sharpness of his response, her leg contracting under his hand, and hand moving to spread open on his chest, "Alright Eneas, it was just a thought. I will follow your lead, and be here for you and for the women when we have found them. I will still try and be the one they see if that is possible though, while Gwen knows you, the other one does not." She leans forward to press her lips to his briefly and lets go again, "We will figure it out."

Eneas lets out another sigh. It is not a response he likes seeing in her, and there is a hint of regret the moment he realizes. The kiss is accepted, though he does pursue her to touch his forehead to hers again. "I am sorry.", he finally says. "I…did not mean to snap at you.". He is a bully sometimes, yes, but usually it is done with a purpose. And to see her flinch was not the purpose he was going for. "I just…we're so close to get everyone to safety. I can almost taste it.", he admits, eyes reopening to look at her. "If we mess up now and you would get hurt now…I…am not sure I would forgive myself.". The situation is not desperate and hopeless anymore. So perhaps Eneas is getting greedy. "If we can separate them from the wagon? Or wherever they are keeping them? Yes. By all means, you and Jean-Marc can get them away. Just…they might have friends we know not about. So be careful?"

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