A girl after her own heart. There's a brief sense memory of Cassie, sharp eyed and impetuous, with entire worlds of possibilities just out of her reach. But- "We will improvise then," Diana tells her, unbuckling her scabbard and holding it out to the young woman, "Move back to the treeline, make it harder for the archers."

Another sound of something flying through the air, fainter than it ought to be. Diana plants herself squarely in front of the young woman as a grappling chain wraps itself around her raised forearm. She can see them now, bandits in dented, scavenged armor. The chain draws tight and Diana digs in her heels. In her proper state, she would be able to haul the blasted skirmisher over towards her. Here, she improvises. She lets the weight of the fighter pull her, haul her foreward. She sidesteps barely a moment in time to miss the kick that's aimed for her stomach, wrapping her hands around the armored calf and twisting up as she turns, hauling the man off his feet by force. Gravity helps her from there, smashing her fist down into the fighter's helmet, denting it further. She stands. The fighter does not.

And now she has a new sword.