The fairest hesitates at that, some instinct deep down warring with the thread of fear pulling at him. He should not leave her, should stay and fight -- yet what skill has he? He is no weapon, he is a playmate. He is decoration.

"I know not how I came to be here," he says, "but I suppose if simple walking carried me here then it might carry me elsewhere. Are you sure you wish to stay here yourself?"