Meara's eyes grew wide. "Retracted!", she shrieked while staring at the weapon with which Vakarr was threatening to strike her. "I didn't mean..."
"I think you did," Per'dra replied softly, "and I think you owe our fellow traveler an apology. I don't mean to sound preachy, but the Dark Elf is right--we must work together, no matter what our races or abilities, if we're going to stay ahead of the Purge." She coughed and held her nose. "I can smell Paryer from here..." Trying not to burst into tears, she concentrated on the river ahead.
"Dear gods! I'm sorry," Meara said slowly, "for everything. Meaning that if I hadn't passed out cold on that filthy floor back at the Drunkard's Haven, I might have protected ye. Please forgive me," she said and lowered her eyes.