He forgets, at times, just how little she could be. It was one thing when she curled up against his side, her hands barely enough to curl around his wrist. It is another when he sees the weight of the brute crush her from where he is on the other side of the fight. Disappearing under the slide of armour and that is enough to tell him something is wrong - she is faster than that. She has always been faster than that.

That is the last thing he thinks, as it becomes clear. Something is wrong. The sword in his hand hacks through them. A direct line through the chaos of the fight. To hell with them. There will be nothing left of them before he is done. For her pain, least of all.

( But this - this most of all. )

The venatori that falls on her is lifted off with a grunt when the last of them are dead. His broad hands making short work of the body as he throws it. But for violence in him, his touch is unsure as he slides them under her head. Threading into her tangled curls as he lifts her head, up, to face him. The other wiping the blood and gore and tangled locks from her cheek.

"Athessa. Athessa look at me."

Like she had ever followed an order of his before in her life. Like that his giving an order might stave off death for even a moment longer.