He recognized when there was an absence of grace. The archangel himself had felt his lifeblood drain whenever extensive wounds required treatment. But the absence of it altogether was alien, unheard of unless the angel involved had fallen. Ne’er had he come into close contact with one before. What befuddled him the most was that the figure didn’t appear fallen, not in the slightest.
Kemuel adjusted the lapels of his jacket so that he had more maneuverability with it. An archangel blade was ever present at his side, while one hand rested in his pocket. His other hung at his side as eyes trained on the woman. Traversing through the dense woods had given way her almost fifty feet away and closing in, perhaps on the trail of some other creature.
He remained a good twenty feet away for caution. Kemuel never knew when he had to use his blade, though he hoped it wouldn’t be now. The crunching of a branch below his foot undoubtedly gave away his presence. A string of Enochian curses flowed through his mind; of course he had to give himself away in the most novice manner.
“Just what might you be?” The male at last asked, a low enough voice to be difficult to hear, unless Amber’s listening skills were sharper than the average human’s.
//starter for @formerangelic