Rives herds the horses into the paddock. Should the gnolls come, the horses would fare better if they were able to run and maneuver instead of being confined to a stable. Besides, after the long run that they horses had just had, they would need to be rubbed down when all this was over.
Once the horses were situated, at least as best as were going to be for the time, Rives looked around nervously, hearing the sounds of battle at the gates and Wyndshof's call to the gate. Surely Wyndshof was thinking for the stable hand to join in the melee. We have numbers and a gate on our side, Rives reasoned as he paced back and forth. No need for me to go there. I'm not very good with these weapons. Almost lost my arm the last time. Everyone else can handle it.
Hearing the battle cries and screams echoing through the courtyard of the watchtower, the young stable hand cringes as he continues to pace anxiously. What if the gnolls best the defenders? Then what? I have no chance alone. The horses are all exhausted too.... Rives stopped in his tracks. If he didn't stand with his comrades, he would likely die alone. His eyes grew wide, as wide as the day he hurriedly left his mother, and he knew what he must do.
He had grown up sparring with staffs. Well, not staffs so much as any long, sturdy wooden pole that they could find. And to be sure, there were always plenty of long, sturdy wooden poles in the stables. Scanning the surroundings, Rives found a stout rod just over five foot in length and hefted it with familiarity, giving it a quick twirl from one hand to the next. He nodded. It would do. And with that he took off at a run to join the others at the gate.