Aziraphale lost track of Melanie some time ago - that happens in these dreams, you just lose track of people, frightfully troublesome, and unnerving besides. Much like how he loses track of himself every night, managing to fall asleep even when he really doesn't mean to. Quite a bother.

The moment she calls for him, though, every other petty concern leaves him - he should not have let her slip out of sight, he knew these woods were dangerous - and Orisa lifts her head sharply as a tidal wave of panic and preemptive anger surges through them both. In a moment he's there, spirited from one metaphysical point to the space occupied by her consciousness, and she's on the ground, and she's bleeding. He scarcely even notices that his unkempt, tawny wings are tangible now, spread threateningly as he turns on the apparent assailant, some human he's never laid eyes on before, carrying a gun.

"What have you done?" he demands, his voice lower and darker than usual. In an instant his fiery sword has come alight in his hand; overkill, perhaps, but in his righteous fury he finds it a necessary measure. Orisa slithers down from his shoulders and crawls quickly to Melanie, curling around her protectively. Aziraphale feels a strange internal clench when her head brushes against Melanie's hand, but this too is necessary, and it's comfort he desperately wants to offer. Fortunate that he can, in these circumstances.

He makes no motions forward, does not angle the sword toward the human; a wrathful stare will do for now.