He's closer to her in a heartbeat, not rushing to her aid or even just being friendly, but tactically, it's a bit safer if they aren't flinging spells around at fast-moving targets if they're potentially in each others crossfire. He walks past her, in fact, to take aim at something creeping in - there are no sparks or shining light from any of his spells, all cutting, burning, harsh and brutal and meant to kill as fast and effectively as possible by severing the life of flesh and the metaphysical both.

Once the unknown things have been culled he waits, listening, for sounds of anything approaching through the din of resigned sadness that's beset the city in the wake of the siege. Something in the distance sounds - rumbling? not quite - heavy weight over stone, rhythmic, not footsteps.

Quietly, still to her back, a soldier's guard position, "Where you tracking something?"