'I should just' wasn't really an answer. Jigano had no idea what had happened even now, only that they had returned slashed to ribbons. Had the monsters communicated at all? Had they made any demands? Any bargains? They had heard laughter when Caiside had died, and Wessex had revealed that they had spoken to her last long night, but why had they attacked Sam's group?
There would be no other answer forthcoming. Not one that they could use to try and piece together some new information or salvage something from the trip; not yet, at least. Jigano's eyes widened as Sam tortured himself, and whatever his other feelings and frustrations for his friend he moved quickly to try and pry Sam's hand away from his wounds, exerting a strength far beyond his lean appearance as he attempted to prevent more damage. "Sam!" He could hear the hysterical note in the bookmaker's voice and he threw a quick glance over his shoulder towards Remi, wondering if the alchemist was in any shape to help--
No. Not yet, at least. Maybe not for awhile. He was on his own, and he would probably make things worse, but he tried to wrap his arms around the broken bookmaker, lending Sam a strength he didn't have. What he offered was the illusion of strength, an act of false facing and lies, pretending to be something he wasn't: pretending to be strong, and kind, and comforting, and all those things that Amalia had needed him to be and that he had failed her in. Better the gentle lie than the cruel truth of the man behind the mask, wasn't it?
"Sam, Sam, you aren't going anywhere," he said softly, patting the bookmaker's back with awkward care. It was so strange to hear him swear, and that more than anything worried the bard. "You're still my friend, still my guildmate. Do you really think I'd let you go off and hurt yourself without a fight? That Remi would? What about your young man - Nate, isn't it? He needs you here, by his side. Evie needs her brother. Mia needs you, too. You matter a great deal to all of us, Sam. You matter. I promise."
There would be no other answer forthcoming. Not one that they could use to try and piece together some new information or salvage something from the trip; not yet, at least. Jigano's eyes widened as Sam tortured himself, and whatever his other feelings and frustrations for his friend he moved quickly to try and pry Sam's hand away from his wounds, exerting a strength far beyond his lean appearance as he attempted to prevent more damage. "Sam!" He could hear the hysterical note in the bookmaker's voice and he threw a quick glance over his shoulder towards Remi, wondering if the alchemist was in any shape to help--
No. Not yet, at least. Maybe not for awhile. He was on his own, and he would probably make things worse, but he tried to wrap his arms around the broken bookmaker, lending Sam a strength he didn't have. What he offered was the illusion of strength, an act of false facing and lies, pretending to be something he wasn't: pretending to be strong, and kind, and comforting, and all those things that Amalia had needed him to be and that he had failed her in. Better the gentle lie than the cruel truth of the man behind the mask, wasn't it?
"Sam, Sam, you aren't going anywhere," he said softly, patting the bookmaker's back with awkward care. It was so strange to hear him swear, and that more than anything worried the bard. "You're still my friend, still my guildmate. Do you really think I'd let you go off and hurt yourself without a fight? That Remi would? What about your young man - Nate, isn't it? He needs you here, by his side. Evie needs her brother. Mia needs you, too. You matter a great deal to all of us, Sam. You matter. I promise."
