So I lean forward, my eyes fixated on his tall, familiar form, willing for him to hear me as Azrael and Soren circle each other like wolves from two opposing packs, snarls ripping through the air between every well placed step...
But why, Soren? I call out desperately, wishing to be of some use and not just sit on the side-lines like a spare part waiting for the use it will never get. I can still fight with my sword- even my powers can't yet work on him- isn't only a matter of time until we remove my blood from his body and I can use them again!
Which is true, of course. There were many a day I'd practise with Ithuriel in the groves beneath the Illistrae clan battling make believe against vampires with silver swords until the council demanded our presence. Though my skills are certainly not as sharp as the angel warriors by any stretch of measure, that does not mean I can't hold my own.