[Having picked through the various weapons to hand, Flint has evidently opted to stick with the somewhat machete-like falchion. He's stripped a scabbard more or less suitable for it from one the bodies and is in the process of securing it to his belt when he joins her.
'Give that back' she says. He's already begun to rummage through the kit and has produced a spotty roll of bandages, but here the point of his attention swivels to the bag in question—]
Okay.
[He pivots back. Skepticism is written clearly there in the line of his brow. Unsatisfied with the roll of the bandage, he shakes it out—allowing the trailing end drop back into the relative security of the kit rather than onto the muddy ground, and then begins re-rolling it tighter across his thigh.]
We might be able to persuade someone to give us a lift in return.
[Unlikely. Never mind the state of the countryside, crawling with opportunistic soldiers and the carrion that trails naturally in their wake. It's summer. Who has a free horse and a hand drive it with in the summer?]
no subject
'Give that back' she says. He's already begun to rummage through the kit and has produced a spotty roll of bandages, but here the point of his attention swivels to the bag in question—]
Okay.
[He pivots back. Skepticism is written clearly there in the line of his brow. Unsatisfied with the roll of the bandage, he shakes it out—allowing the trailing end drop back into the relative security of the kit rather than onto the muddy ground, and then begins re-rolling it tighter across his thigh.]
We might be able to persuade someone to give us a lift in return.
[Unlikely. Never mind the state of the countryside, crawling with opportunistic soldiers and the carrion that trails naturally in their wake. It's summer. Who has a free horse and a hand drive it with in the summer?]