The light colored woman seemed to appear from nowhere in particular, and yet, upon first glance, she didn't appear as a threat. The dark woman sympathised with grief. Her eyes were watchful, mindful. Sorrow had a way to turn things ugly even if it wasn't desired. Admittedly, she cared little for the woman's reaction; others were permitted to grieve in whatever way felt right to them in these matters. Amunet felt no need to intervene, even as the feeling of what one could consider jealousy crept up her spine. No, this moment was for Ezra and the fallen; she could temper trivial emotions for the time being. Even she had reverence for the dying when it came to someone important to those she cared about.

It wasn't until the woman flashed from looking at Ezra to herself that she lifted her head to full attention. If the matter were not so heavy, she would almost find it insulting. Still, she caught the fact that the poor man on the ground had been his brother, and this was apparently his sister. Even Ezra had seemed to be perplexed on the matter. She watches as he takes a step back. He stumbles slightly, shaking his head. Amunet cared little for the glowing oddities they seemed to carry in their own was her concern was the reaction, and it was enough to captivate her entire attention. The rest of the beast scattered about no longer mattered in the moment, only the three in front before.

It wasn't the baseless words and accusations that made Amunet bristle, witnessing Ezra's stance change to something defensive, wrong. Even as he uttered words in her defence, her snarl broke her silence. She stalked forward, muscles rippling beneath obsidian fur. Touch him with ill intentions. I swear before all the gods, all the fates. Whatever the fuck you believe in...I will drag you into the abyss with me. The dark woman couldn't control the fury radiating from her body. She cared not if she were injured or worse; Ezra was hers. As capable as he is as a fighter mattered little now. In her presence, she wouldn't tolerate it.

She closed the distance from Ezra, close enough that if the stranger lashed out, she could place herself in front of him. Her eyes were cold, and her tone even more frigid. I do not wish to dishonour the dead. I desire not to fight you, but I shall if it is required of me. She lowered her head slightly to protect her throat as she subtly widened her stance. Still baring her teeth, she waited for an answer or movement. If she opted to lash out at Ezra, she wouldn't hesitate to throw her shoulder into the woman's smaller frame. If the woman's fury was turned on her, she could take her retaliation. Grief was a feeling she knew well, and while she desired for this to be amicable, Amunet wouldn't hesitate to risk her life for the male before her.

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