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"i'm sorry irriwen, i will try, i dont know how but i'll try.. maybe.. no.." Tireace said which rambled on to her musings..

"It's okay, don't worry." Irri said. "Weren't you going to heal me?"

"oh yeah! sorry!" Tireace said while putting one of her hands on Irriwen's back and lets the magicka flow though her healing.

"Ah! Much better, thanks!" Irri said, stretching.

The High Elf coughed again, and moaned softly.

The woman coughed loudly and her eyes fluttered open. "Th-they're coming!!" She screamed.

Irri slowly approached the woman, her hands raised in a symbol of truce to Aramith. "Who is coming?" She asked softly.

Feather-Tail resolved to remount his steed soon after the battle's end; he neglected to do so, however, as the massacre's seemingly only survivor began to speak. He stood a good distance from her temporary caretakers, straining to hear her desperate words.

"Thalmor." She whispered weakly. "They... akh..." She started gurgling and squeaking when trying to speak.

Lilith, the breton healer and alchemist of Singer's group, ran up to her and examined her with a spell. "Her throat is badly damaged. I don't think she'll be able to talk anytime soon."

"Can anyone here help her?" Irri asked softly.

"mhm.. if we use something to speed up the recovery time.. combine that with.. mhm.." Tireace mused "we might, but it will be far too risky"

Irriwen continued to fight the now near constant impulse to hit Aramith with the nearest convenient blunt object.

Siaenach facepalmed.

"Good lord, yellowface! You've just been told she won't be able to speak, and yet you ask questions. What kind of an idiot are you?"

The woman tried to speak but couldn't. She weakly turned to the ground and wrote in the dirt with her finger: Thalmor are bad. Please take me with you.

"Ha!" Sianach shouted, a scornful expression on her face. "In your face, Altmer!"

"This is no time for your pettiness," scolded Sebastien in a quiet yet firm voice. He had approached them from behind and had his arms folded tightly across his chest, his thick eyebrows drawn down in a tight V. The fray had made the Breton agitated and the bickering that began with Aramith and Irriwen only made it worse still. Now his temples were throbbing and he was in a decidedly bad mood. "Spare the poor woman your grating voices in her ears, if she must come with us."