[Q1] Dragons Peak Burns

By the time they reached the bloody top of the mountain, Aulus was still processing that leaving the flimsy-looking woman behind in the crevice was even an option. Even though two more had hopped down with the other woman, when more than half the others decided fine turning away, many fresh insights dawned on Aulus. 

One thought was that a highbred-looking woman could fall down quite far, and still be able to make do. (How long had he coddled Octavia for?) Another idea was that simply cheering at another's plight was socially acceptable. (What would happen if Octavia did her own dirty work and he stood back and cheered her on?) (Yes, he had gawked at Deyran's casual brilliance, before embarressedly looking away.)

Now Aulus crouched scooping the hot, thick liquid in one ungloved hand, investigating even though the reeking of its iron decay made him want to retch. This was the smell of war, as he knew it. He hadn't expected it here, and a meditative darkness laced the furrow of his brow as if he had returned to his soldier's duties five years ago. He was quiet, but he eyed Deyran's boots as he wiped the thick redish oily fluid off of his hands. His obsessive ruminations on Octavia was now, perhaps, dethroned to a light distraction from far worse reflections. He doesn't realize he's stepped closer to Deyran as he wipes his hand on a bit of rag.

Not a volcano, Aulus agreed with the first to draw conclusions. Maybe it is some other death though, he said with soft concern. Is this some sort of mineral sludge? How can it smell so like blood? Aulus uttered, willing his senses to be over-reacting, for all this blood was quite horrifying.

- thoughts of octavia, and admiration of deyran
- some ptsd instrusive thoughts. he looks visibly ill.
- cant believe he thinks its blood (just read the dialogue, if anything)