down but not out

It's nearly midnight when the exhausted group stumbles into the temple. They're all bleeding, though no one is seriously injured. Provice frets over them, and Jane can tell, even if he doesn't say, that he's worried if anyone is ever going to listen to them.

"You know how Casterbrus has built up a reputation as the most racist city in Tethe'alla?" Yuan says, nursing a cut just over his eyebrow. "Well."

"Oh," Provice sighs, handing him a cup of tea. "Oh."

"No one there is too fond of half-elves," Kratos says. "In most places, we can at least speak, but we were barely inside the city when they attacked."

Mithos doesn't say anything. He grips his cup, slouched in the chair, and stares off into the distance. Blood rolls down his cheek and falls into his cup.

Jane finds him the next morning in the courtyard, caressing the roots of the long dead Kharlan tree. This temple was built to protect it.

"We'll try again tomorrow," he says softly when she sits down next to him. "They can't keep us quiet for long."