[Having trailed after her in kind, Flint gently eases himself back up to a crouch behind the imperfect shield of the most dense part of their cover. The gentle rustle of dead leaves and brambly fingers of the brush is more or less in keeping with the soft click-click crank of the crossbow's draw. He's slower to move than she is, and will need his feet under him to start with if he means to intercept whatever may come tearing up this hill toward them once that first bolt flies free.
Flint shifts his grip on the heavy sword's grip. He nods without looking at her, attention fixed on bandits. ]
no subject
Flint shifts his grip on the heavy sword's grip. He nods without looking at her, attention fixed on bandits. ]
Ready.