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Dorlas...
Dorlas had watched the discussion between Melost and Arthain long enough. "Hold him!" Dorlas hissed at the ragged man, who obliged and grasped both of Melost's shoulders. Dorlas moved quickly to Arthain and pulled the knife gently from its place at his master's neck. "No, Arthain. They would slay Melost if he drew your blood, just as they would do you if you drew his. You know this," Dorlas' voice was scarcely above a whisper as he pulled Arthain up from his knees and took the knife from the hands of Melost or Arthain.
"Then let me do it myself, Dorlas!" Arthain cried, tears streaming silently as the man choked on his words. Dorlas couldn't believe what he was hearing. What had happened to the Arthain he'd known? How could a bond like the one with Melost tear the once strong man apart from the inside, no matter how invisible it was? Dorlas' expression glazed over with new determination. I'm not going to lose Arthain the way Thelian lost Melost.
"Arthain!" Dorlas scolded as a mother would to her misbehaving child. "Don't be foolish. You were not meant to die at your own hand. Peace!" Turning to Melost and retreating to his former spot next to the stranger called Khalad, Dorlas sighed and looked to Arthain. "I don't think you should be here, near Melost, Arthain. We can't have you any more hurt or distracted before battle than you already are."
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