While her answer wasn't exactly helpful, it was a better one than most. Honesty never hurt anybody, especially when too many unknowns ripped the rug out from under them. Consider it a courtesy if anyone figured out what exactly was going on. Perfetti would've certainly loved to have some answers. Answers both for his ease of mind and for the settling of others.
Her statements, her assumptions, rather, were not impossible. As one who was well acquainted with magic, Mimora would've had a better understanding of it than Moses. The supernatural was indeed a mystery to such a basic man as he, and convolution was not a favorable thing in his eyes. So he let those who were immersed in it deal with it, and he would handle what he could understand. It only seemed fair to him. Despite the fact that he could not comprehend it, his following comment did reveal what little he did know.
"Well, if it was a mass conjuring performed by some unknown, they must have terrifying skills in necromancy as well. And you'd be right, it is not a good thing to think upon." His eyes traveled back towards the tower, the brave souls who had charged down there branded on his conscience. He felt so guilty, leaving them to fight that horrible creature. He wouldn't have run before, so why did he now? Was this imparted wisdom? Did he not move and act of his own will? Or was he more cautious now than before? Was he thinking things through in ways he never had prior?
He was snapped out of his trance when he heard a spilling of water. His gaze whipped back to the cup he was holding, his grasp relaxing to the point where it was leaning over. His dominant hand tightened around it once more, and he picked it up quickly to stop the water from pouring out.
"Whoops," he commented. He looked back down in the cup, seeing it had nearly emptied. That was fine, he wasn't really that thirsty anyway. He handed it back to it's owner, a grateful smile appearing on his face.
"Thank you, Mimora." When she took it, he attempted to stand once more, to find his legs again. It took him a while to even will his body to move. He wanted to stand, to get up and take action once more, but his frame would not follow his mind. He remained kneeling, a defeated look taking over his features.
Why couldn't he move? He was a man of war, a soldier for crying out loud! Yet this weakness, this reluctancy in his body was frustrating, irritating. Was his conscience guilting him for his retreat? Was his body still in shock and recovering? He couldn't figure it out, and in not wishing to keep her in silence, he turned back to her.
"Some way to start the day. We should really get back to the others, though." It was in that statement that his legs finally wished to move once more. He worked his way onto all fours and quickly forced himself onto his feet. His rise to stand straight was what took a while, however. Eventually, he got there, and when his head cleared of some fuzziness, he offered a hand to the red-haired girl.
"We should get back, alert the others."
Moses-Joel
Men of Honor are hard to Find
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