The display of power slid over her eyes and for the life of her, Paloma could not totally appreciate the appearance of the golem. Not when the arrowheads deep in her body felt every twitch, every outside pressure onto her flesh. The blood from her eyes continued its trickling. She'd been so privileged, so complacent with no apparent need to fight for her survival for too long. Soon as they left her no option, she lost her head, ran through fire...

Paloma stretched a hand out to where the golem disappeared, crying harder for the elf who truly never should have died.

As for Teague-- he stood his ground, upright, head high despite the shivering of muscle. He was young, and proud, too proud to let anyone see him brought low by darts full of blood granite. And he was angry; rage so palpable it pressed Paloma to begin hyperventilating. "Eyes-- eyes open, no drifting, it's alright now," she parroted. "It won't, it can't be right until they stop being afraid."