He is not back long after her, in honesty. He went as far in as he dared, further, perhaps, than was wise - but he saved as many as he could, knowing full well he could not save them all. His long hair is still in warrior braids, but soot streaks his fair cheeks and he limps slightly, clothes singed and smelling of ash and fire.

But mostly he is unharmed, little more than scratches and bruises, and he smiles wryly when he sees her waiting by the door.

"Suilad, little butterfly. I am home, it seems"