[Zohariel]

Zohariel noticed Arawil ignoring her. She hardly cared; she just wanted to get warm. She shuffled nearer the fire and curled up into a ball. Her cloak- the one clean bit- turned her into a small, black lump.
I still sense death. Why am I here? There is no dead here. I could be out doing something else and getting paid for it.
For the hundreth time she wondered why she was a Necromancer, and why she didn't just dump those b****y bells in a ditch and get herself a proper, paying job. so she wouldn't have to steal. The other voice in her argued back.
You never chose to be a Necromancer. Necromancing chose you. It's not something you can just drop. And what would your mother, your grandfather say if they saw those bells lying in a ditch?
The feeling of death still lingered and she could not shake it off. Finally she got up and began pacing the ground around the fire, trying to sense where the feeling came from.
On the way round, she hit one girl's head with her bell pouch- a total accident. She had no idea who it was- the stressy one was over there though- but the girl rose to her feet practically snarling.