She was still dithering when he threw her saddlebags at the first one, who sort of caught them, stumbling off balance as he did so. A tiny part of her mind wondered if it was some kind of greeting ritual—until he knocked the second one off its feet. There was nothing friendly about it, and it made Lyra’s blood run cold. It seemed Dale had decided that these creatures were a threat, and he had dealt with it in less time than she’d imagined possible for a creature of his size—it was as fast she cast when she’d been dueling, in fact—and he’d done it with no visible magic. It was a frightening change in his normally calm demeanor.