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Elyntine crouched down, placing a hand on Sebastien's shoulder. "Are you alright?" she asked, concerned.

Malatar swiftly stood on all fours. He shook his large, golden mane. "Our entire race has been destroyed by the Nedic!" he said to the others. A slight roar could be heard behind the word "destroyed". "How dare you?"

Sebastien, focusing intently on the debacle before him, almost didn't notice Elyntine's hand on his shoulder, but it was too foreign a feeling to escape his attention. He turned his head toward her and hesitated. Then he frowned, not knowing what else to do. "I am tired," he admitted, but that was all. He hoped that his eyes conveyed to her the uncertainty of his silence; his mind was too full, and filling still with each question to Singer and each answer he supplied.

Elyntine stood straight and focused her attention on the golden lion who had risen to his feet. She regretted saying anything to Sebastien; she felt that she had been intrusive and made both of them uncomfortable. She looked around uneasily at the other Chosen and Singer's adventurers, wondering if one of the more conflictual personalities would escalate the current tension with the Ayleids.

Irri walked calmly towards Malatar. She stopped perhaps four feet away. She scrutinized the transformed Ayleid, her dark eyes flitting over his golden fur. "Rude, proud Ayleid. Let us see you for what you are, Wild Elf." She said in a resolute voice, staring into the lion's eyes.

"It is you who is rude, girl!" Malatar hissed, standing on two legs and rapidly transforming back into his human form.

"You can see me for what I am." Irri said, as if she were stating the simplest fact in the world. "You were trying to impress? Make an impression? Vain Ayleid."

Disappointed with himself by Elyntine's distance, Sebastien started to shuffle to his feet - and hurried, mostly out of concern, when he saw the Bosmer in his group approach the Ayleids across the camp. He had never felt so aghast.

Words were exchanged. Across the way the lion transformed into his true self, and Sebastien grimaced, turning toward Elyntine. "Fools, everyone," he muttered to her, and crossed his arms tight against his chest. Then he scolded the Bosmer from afar. "Haughty child! A Nord claims you demigods and you would cast your stones against the Ayleids! Am I the only one who thinks this entire thing mad?"

Irri glanced at Sebastien. "I cast no stones, Breton."

Sebastien eyed the Bosmer with agitation. "These mer are from a time long gone," he said. "They shouldn't even be here. Let them keep their pride and their vanity, if it suits them. But if they truly want to live, they will get learn to let go of both - without your prodding." He turned his gaze upon the Alyeids, then upon Irri again.

"I will not die here, human," Selara murmured. She kept control of her voice, but there was no mistaking the note of cold fury seething beneath the veil of silk in her words. "To say that this day has been a trying one would be a vast understatement. Your kind,"--with a nod towards the assembled men and mer--"decided today that my people would be better off forgotten. My apologies if I do not find this state of being very appealing. What assurance have we that you and yours are not behind this catastrophe? Perhaps all you want is a pair of tame Ayleids to display as it suits your bizarre scheming," she spat. Selara didn't sound very apologetic, but then, she didn't exactly intend to do so either.

"And you, human," she said sharply, turning towards Sebastien. "What right of yours is it to decide who should and shouldn't 'be here,' as you so eloquently stated? Oh, I suppose that's your god-given privilege, to dictate life and death. I..."

And then everything was just too much. With a muffled sob, Selara spun on her heel and ran from the camp, the tears she could no longer suppress streaming down her cheeks.

"Oh, Eight and One," muttered Sebastien as the Alyeid woman ran off. He rubbed his face awkwardly, though his eyebrows were still folded in a tight V. And mother wondered why I never married, he pitifully thought of his prowess with the finer sex. He glanced toward Malatar and shook his head. "That isn't what I meant, Alyeid. And you can tell her that. I've had enough of this nonsense tonight."

With that, the Breton turned on his heel and waved his hands dismissively at the others. He made a point of ignoring Elyntine, too embarrassed to think what the Dunmer would think of his manners - and embarrassed that he would even care. But he did save a special, angry look for the Nord who had brought them into this mess, and he shook his finger toward Singer. "And you call that luck, Nord? Bah!"

He stormed off in the opposite direction and set himself down in the grass, far enough from the others to be alone with his thoughts, and fell into a bitter, angry silence...and knew at once that he would not easily get the sleep he craved.

Kah'jihreed stayed silent. He deemed it best to wait before speaking.

Irri watched Sebastien walk away. She returned her eyes to Malatar. "Proud elf." She said, a smile tugging the edges of her mouth. "How does the new world greet you?"

"Have we forgotten that you are Elven as well?" Malatar responded. "This world is different. Loyalty has become nonexistent."

"Loyalty must have been the cardinal virtue in the First Age. The slavery of Man, the Alessian Revolt, the Elven Pogrom. Best examples of loyalty that exist." Irri said earnestly, her flinty eyes glinting. "Loyalty and honour never died, because they never existed. On the day of creation, Anu was no stronger than Padomay. The world is chaos."

"There was a time where life was far more simple." Malatar stated before turning and heading in Selara's direction.

"Selara!" he called.

Irri sighed. "Well met, Ayleid." She said, walking away. She sat down on a log not far from the fire, and pulled out her whetstone. She began sharpening her a axe.

Ormis observed Engrid from afar. He had so many questions to ask! He couldn't take it, and approached her slowly.
"Um, excuse me? I have a few questions to ask, if you don't mind." Ormis said, awkwardly shifting positions.

After Sebastien and the Ayleids left, Elyntine decided to withdraw from the group's discussion herself- she wished no more to hear the words of Singer, and she was mentally exhausted from the day's disturbing events. She had noticed how Sebastien had avoided her gaze as he hurried away, and she knew he wanted to be alone. The Dunmer found an isolated spot at the edge of the camp and sat down with her back against a tree. She pulled out her lyre and began to play.

Bitter, silent tears coursed down Selara's cheeks. She'd not run far, not trusting this land to be familiar to her as the woodlands around her home in Valenwood always had been. Her home. She had no home, not now. The Nedes had seen to that all too well. Maybe it wasn't these Nedes. Maybe it was. It was anger as much as sorrow that had brought tears to her eyes, a deep-seated rage at the helplessness of the moment. She didn't hear Malatar's call at first. Hands fisted at her sides in impotent fury, she turned to him. "Is...is our time really over, Malatar? I don't feel like some relic of a long-forgotten age that should be thrown away and disregarded. I won't be forgotten, I won't! I don't know what to do."

Malatar fiercely wiped Selara's tears from her cheeks. "Tears do little to aid one's problems." he said sternly without sympathy. "We remain, Selara. In reality, the Ayleidoon have not completely vanished from this world yet. But we must look out for one another. You are all that I have, and I am all that you have."

"I know," Selara said simply. "We are all that there is, unless some other clan was as insightful as the Goria in avoiding the ravages of time, and we cannot count on that." She sighed. "No, we are the last. It makes me so angry, Malatar. How dare those...those playthings think that they can get away with this abomination? This is our world too. They can't take that from us. After all..." She paused for a moment, thoughtful. "We were here first, were we not?

"I suppose I should go back. I'm sorry, Malatar. I am just so damned angry. Whomever is responsible for...for the death of our people, we will make them pay. Won't we?"

Siaenach, after a few minutes of waiting idly, approached Tireace with a very insulted look on her face.

"So, Breton," she said with a hiss, pushing Tireace in the chest. "You think I'm like you? You do? Never! I am no more Breton than the Thalmor are open-minded."