Seeing that the individual finally awoke from whatever had been possessing him — a demon?! — Micah managed to heave a sigh of great relief, even crack a small, worried smile. From behind, Storm Lily hissed something bitter about leaving dead men to die and hunting down those who needed their deaths pushed a little early; her words hardly penetrated his ears, blocked out by the quick rushing of blood brought upon by the peaking of anxiety and the like.
His hands and body still shaking, Micah swallowed a lump in his throat, watching with worried eyes as blood was wiped from the stranger's face. The incapacitated boy had chosen to remain silent, instead adopting a shameful look, and at this Micah could only wonder if he himself had ever looked that pitiful. Surely he had.
"Umm, umm," he stammered, "I-I'm sorry I had to hit you, b-b-but I didn't know what else to do... Y-Y-You're from here, right? I-I mean, Cersa— C-Cerki— C-Cercat-t-t-tori d'Arte..." A moment to catch his breath. "M-My name's M-Micah. A-Are you okay?"
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