Athos turns around, his eyebrows knitting together in concern when he sees Aramis has vanished. “Aramis?” he calls the man’s name, but not too loudly, wary of capturing too much attention in these increasingly dangerous woods. He draws his sword, following after that brief flutter of movement, and hoping Porthos will do the same.

There are four figures moving together, and Athos realizes with a fast-beating heart that one is certainly Aramis. They are moving swiftly through the trees, all but dragging Aramis along towards what will certainly be some awful fate, still too far away to attack. He looks at Porthos, meeting his gaze with eyes a little wide, though he dares not speak for fear of being heard.