Victor stepped back into Numendil with an arrow through his shoulder. The bowie seemed in good spirits, the arrow straight through was a good sign that he'd likely recover fine and quickly with few complications. He sat, allowing his compatriots and medics to treat the wound, as someone walked over with a small bag, handing out letters to the wounded.
Victor bit onto the edge of the letter and tore it, with his teeth, savagely. With a loud patooh, the graceless ranger pinched the envelope with his free, uninjured left hand, and was able to coax the paper out. His eyes narrowed as he looked over the letter, scanning it, and drinking in the words as they flowed from the page to his eyes.
"Holy shit, I dinnae know t'at Lavanya an' Xander were gettin' married?!"
The bowie thought back quietly on his time with the duo. In hindsight, they were pretty close: inseparable even. Though he thought the two were just good friends, evidently. He grabbed a cigarette loosely and brought it to his mouth, letting it hang unlit, chewing it over... I have a lot to learn about courtship still, he thought, as his mind settled back into the bustle of triage around the infirmary.