It took far longer than any of them had hoped, but finally the last of the wayward souls had been freed from their mortal forms. As soon as Valla was certain the threat had passed, she turned to her two companions and addressed them, voice hard with urgency.

"Kormac, Eirena, get to the church. Let the people know the streets are safe, and help out in any way you can. They may have injured that need treating."

Both nodded in understanding, and Kormac immediately took off toward the church but Eirena held back for a second longer, looking at Valla imploringly.

"You will come let us know how he is, yes?" she asked, eyes wide with worry.

The mention of Lyndon brought up an unwelcome wave of concern within her, but she pushed it aside as best she could in order to answer Eirena with confidence.

"I will come meet you as soon as I know the situation. Go!"

Eirena nodded again and ran to catch up with the templar, leaving Valla to set off in the direction of their caravan.

As she made her way hastily through the town, the rage that always burned inside of her during combat slowly became replaced by fear, the likes of which she had not experienced since she had watched Leah get sacrificed in a horrible ritual to become Diablo's vessel. It was the guilt-ridden terror that someone else was going to die because she hadn't been attentive enough. Her nightmares were already haunted by fast-moving currents and snow-covered forts; she wasn't sure how much more her conscience could take.

When she finally arrived at the circle of craftsmen's wagons she spotted Myriam outside, unpacking her equipment as if she already knew the battle had been won and she would be needed soon. She looked up and smiled in an understanding way, speaking before Valla even had the chance to.

"You worry too much, celsa," she admonished gently, "He will live. He is with Haedrig now."

Valla was a little put off by not even being allowed to speak, but she had too many greater concerns to trouble herself with a bit of rudeness. She had only taken a step towards Haedrig's wagon, however, before something disturbing occurred to her and she froze. Her fear hardened back into anger, and she rounded on the mystic, eyes narrowing dangerously.

"You knew," she hissed accusingly.

Myriam did not look the least bit threatened, but her smile turned sad. "I know a great many things, celsa."

Valla breathed deeply, trying to calm her raging heart. This was not the time to argue with Myriam over the morality of keeping her visions to herself. There were more pressing matters to attend to. She turned away from the older woman and made her way swiftly over to the blacksmith's wagon, completely ignoring Brycen who was sitting just outside of it, eyeing her nervously.

Valla threw open the door with a bit more force than she had intended, but it didn't seem to faze Haedrig who was calmly sharpening a sword on the other side of the room. He had likely heard her yelling and expected the intrusion. He looked up at her and nodded grimly before returning to his task.

Lyndon was on Haedrig's bed, lying on his back and evidently in a deep sleep. In a few quick strides she was at his bedside, and she frowned, not sure if it was a good sign that he was so unresponsive.

Haedrig spoke then, likely noticing her expression. "Myriam gave him something to help him sleep. He'll likely be up around nightfall." He paused for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to continue. "I'm no healer, but he looks stable enough to me."

Valla nodded to him, relieved that Lyndon's life did not appear to be in danger. She carefully pulled back the top half of the covers, noting that someone had removed his shredded clothing and cleaned his wounds. Without all the caked-on blood he looked to be in much better shape, but his bare chest gave her a clear view of the extent of his injuries. Six gashes marred his chest where the beast had sunk its claws into him, and though the cuts were not long they were noticeably deep. She had no doubt that each and every one would leave a scar.

Her eyes trailed over to his left shoulder, and saw that her emergency tourniquet had been replaced with proper bandaging. No blood seemed to have leaked through the cloth, so he was not at risk of bleeding out.

Valla was a bit concerned about what he would think of himself when he awoke, but there would be time to worry about that later. He was safe, that would have to be enough for now. The others were no doubt worried, and may have need of her help.

Valla was about to ask Haedrig to come find her when Lyndon was awake, but thought better of it; it was possible they would need the blacksmith's assistance in resituating the townspeople, and she highly doubted he wanted to be stuck here all day watching the sleeping man. Instead she let out a sharp whistle, and in seconds a large gray wolf come bounding in through the already-open door, coming to a stop beside her and looking up at her expectantly.

While holding the creature's gaze, Valla pointed to Lyndon's sleeping form. "Watch," she commanded.

The wolf sat down obediently, turning his head away from her to stare at his charge. She knew Haedrig wasn't fond of animals hanging around his equipment, but he said nothing as she patted the creature on the head before turning and leaving the wagon.

Lyndon awoke feeling groggy and slow, and immediately recognized the sensation of having been drugged. Confused and desperately trying to remember what happened, he turned his head to get a look at his surroundings, only to find himself staring directly into a pair of ominously glowing green eyes framing a muzzle with a mouth full of savage-looking fangs. His first delirious thought was that one of his many enemies had drugged him and tossed him into a pit filled with terrible predators, but then the wolf howled in excitement and he recognized it as part of Valla's ever-growing menagerie. He would need to have a talk with her about keeping the damn beasts away from him so he didn't have a heart attack.

The wolf gave another short howl before turning and nudging open a nearby door, allowing moonlight to spill in and illuminate the otherwise dark room. The canine quickly disappeared outside, leaving Lyndon alone to figure out where he was. He quickly spotted an anvil, a furnace, and several hammers that told him it had to be Haedrig's wagon, but why in Akarat's name was he here?

Lyndon tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in both his sides forced him to immediately lie back down. Broken ribs, he knew from experience. It would be a painful recovery, but access to potions and healing magic would make it significantly shorter than it had been the first time he had dealt with it back in Kingsport. That was a six weeks he never wanted to relive. But how in the Burning Hells had he managed to break-

Oh. Oh.

And then he remembered, and a quick glance over at his left side confirmed that it hadn't just been a nightmare.

Shit.

Lyndon groaned and pressed his hand against his forehead, trying to stall the headache that was creeping up on him. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. After all, it had been his left arm that was taken, and he did most things with his right anyway. And while women weren't big on deformities, he could probably play up the fact that he was heroically wounded in battle, that was sure to get at least some of them going.

Then his eyes happened to fall on a weapon rack on the far wall, devoid of anything except for a single crossbow, and it hit him-

He could no longer fight.

He felt a sick, twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach as the full implications of the realization sank in. Everyone in their group had a purpose: Haedrig kept their equipment in top shape, Shen could cut valuable gems, Myriam provided powerful enchantments, and the rest of them were warriors. Even Brycen was coming into his own, taking some heat off of their overworked blacksmith.

Lyndon had... other talents, but his ability to keep up with his friends in battle was the only one they didn't disapprove of. Anything else would only serve to alienate him.

He wasn't bad with a dagger, but the tricks he learned were focused around disabling enemies just long enough so that he could get away from them. He was nowhere near talented enough with a blade to engage in the kind of battles they fought on a near-daily basis. He had spent his life learning to keep his distance; he simply wasn't cut out for being on the front lines.

He was useless to them.

Despair washed over him, and it was at that moment he heard footsteps as someone entered the room. He sighed; he was not in the mood to talk.

Knowing confrontation was inevitable, he turned toward the door to see Valla approaching him, her wolf running excited circles around her. She reached into a pouch and pulled out a bit of dried meat that she offered to the creature, which he snapped up hastily before turning and running back out into the night.

Valla took a quick glance around the room and located a lantern hanging above the door. She grabbed a small device off her belt that Lyndon knew was somehow designed to create sparks and used it to light the candle inside the enclosure.

She put the tool away and turned to Lyndon, examining him for a moment before speaking. "How do you feel?"

"Like I got my damn arm ripped off," he grumbled in response. "You didn't happen to bring anything with alcohol in it, did you?"

She didn't look particularly pleased with his answer, though he always had a hard time reading her expression. Whatever the case, she chose not to respond, and instead took another step forward and began scrutinizing his injuries. His blanket had slid aside when he attempted to sit up and he never bothered to fix it, leaving him exposed down to his bellybutton.

"If you wanted to see me without a shirt on you could have just asked," he quipped, though his tone lacked the usual cheer he used when teasing his companions. He said it more because it felt like something he should say than because he was actually in the mood to banter.

Valla made a quiet "hmm" noise before lifting her gaze back up to meet his. "The remainder of the battle went well. There were no further casualties. The surviving townspeople have been able to reclaim their homes."

Lyndon didn't bother to respond; she had been pointedly ignoring everything he said up to that point anyway.

"There's food, if you want it," she continued, pointing to a small table directly beside the bed. "You should probably eat something."

Lyndon wasn't sure how he hadn't noticed it before, but sure enough there was a bowl on the table containing some kind of stew, as well as a cup that appeared to be filled with water. It must have been at least half a day since he last ate anything, but the thought of eating made him slightly nauseous.

"Was that all?" he asked, attempting to sound nonchalant and only partially succeeding.

He was almost certain she had caught the hitch in his voice, but she made no mention of it.

"Yes, unless you needed something else."

Lyndon was not at all fond of feeling like he needed to be taken care of, and frustration began building inside him. "No, I am quite certain I can take it from here, thank you."

"Very well." Valla lingered for a moment longer before heading for the door, stopping and turning to address him once more before leaving. "Call if you need anything, someone will be nearby."

With that she finally left, closing the door carefully behind her.

The only remaining light was the orange glow of the lantern, which cast ugly looking shadows across the room. Lyndon was able to reach the water cup without having to move his injured midsection, but his hand was shaking and he managed to spill more of it on himself than he was able to drink. With an irritated sigh, he set the empty cup back down.

Useless indeed.

From outside, Lyndon could hear the muffled voices of his companions as they discussed their next course of action. He strained to understand what they were saying, but he could catch only bits of phrases here and there. It was as if they were already making plans without him.

Lyndon had never felt so alone.