"No questions," Azwel says. "I'd simply be remiss if I didn't aid in the fighting, at least, so I think I'll join your expedition."

He's grown leaner, his features even sharper, and that same forced, crackling energy surrounds him. He scarcely removes his gauntlets these days, and it's almost as though he's relying on their magick to keep himself standing, just in case sheer bloody-mindedness somehow fails him.

He doesn't want to go back out into that wind, but he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't try.