Justice is a satisfied thrum at the back of his mind, a presence more than a separate entity in the wake of battle. The slavers hadn’t gone down easily, and there’s evidence enough of that in the blood-soaked sand, more slaver than ally, but in some cases, not by much. These wretched men don’t make their living by being weak, after all, and with Hawke’s presence in Kirkwall slimming their numbers, they’re learning to be faster, more lethal.

   The worst kind of enemy is an intelligent one.

   Still, they’d come out the other side of the battle with all in their party standing and none of the opposition’s, so it’s a win. Even Justice is pleased, and normally the spirit disapproves of any activity that splinters Anders’ focus from his chosen mission. Slavers, though, they can both agree need to be put down, and he’ll make up the lost time burning the midnight oil later.

   He makes his rounds with the party, healing wounds as the bodies are looted, and saves Hawke for last. He knows the man reasonably well enough by now to determine that if he’s still standing under his own power, he’s likely to downplay any injuries he might have sustained during the fight. Anders keeps an eye out and casts where he sees fit in the thick of things, but there’s always some bit of maintenance to do after as well.