I probably looked like the seer.
All I knew was that I still hanging there, gasping, trying to get enough oxygen through the gag, to move my arms, when the shooter appeared on the lawn.
He wore all black, too. He'd saved our lives, I was sure of that now, but somehow, seeing him there didn't exactly fill me with relief. Instead I was seeing all the people he'd shot, and hyper-aware of the fact that I was still completely helpless.
I fought harder against the bindings on my arms, but never took my eyes off him as he bent over and knelt beside felled bodies, checking them.
I watched him take a weapon away from the Russian and feel over the body of ponytail guy before he extracted another gun and shoved it into a pocket. He straightened long enough to shoot the Russian again, which maybe was a mercy at that point, but made me flinch anyway, letting out a short cry.
If he heard me, he didn't look up.
Moving to the next cluster of bodies, he disarmed two others, even though they weren't moving at all. The shooter didn't pause, but proceeded methodically, his gun always trained on the ones he hadn't yet gotten to.
Whoever he was, he also didn't speak.
I could only hear a few people breathing in the clearing now. The guy with the burnt hair and face wasn't moving at all. Nor was the Russian, or ponytail guy, or the guy who called me a Serpent. In fact, the only person I saw moving now, apart from the three of us tied to logs, was the guy who'd been wielding the cattle prod earlier that day. I was staring at him, watching him trying to crawl across the grass, when another shot caught me off guard. His body crumpled to the grass, and I gasped, looking back at the shooter.
I couldn't see his face though, not from where I hung. I could only see his legs, which were covered by dark-colored pants. Before I'd managed to pull my head back together, I saw those legs moving in my direction. Letting out a cry against the gag, I fought harder against the cuffs, but I seemed stuck in place, unable to move the cuffs, or myself, anywhere. I'd even stopped sliding down the side of the log, probably because I was hanging nearly under it anyway.
I was still fighting, gasping to breathe, when the shooter reached my side.
His knees bent, bringing his body, and then his face level with mine.
The last person I'd expected to see met my gaze. His pale eyes nearly glowed in the fading light of the fires, narrowing as they studied my face.