"Try to keep up," mumurs Iata Silverwing as she dashes past her companions, pausing only to duck into a patch of undergrowth by the moat. She wasn't exactly well-suited in the front line, but her companions being who they were, she was likely the best hope of spotting an upcoming ambush before it was sprung on them. So she kept her profile low and her tread light and quick, ready to fall back at the first sign of trouble.
Things were bad no matter how you looked at them. Given the signs they had discovered, any hope of retrieving any members of the Mithril Hope alive were vanishingly slim. But there were matters that had to be resolved, and probably blood that had to be spilt before the day was over. All she could do was hope that she and her friends would live to see it.