As she wobbled to her feet, an absolute bear of a man broke from the charge to dismount and walk towards her. She knew she must look a sight, covered in mud and gore, and by the look on his face, she could tell he wasn't overly impressed. Annoyance flared through her exhaustion as he pushed her towards the caravan, urging her to rest. She still wished to help them secure the town in the event the shambler returned, even as she was forced to admit that she was nearly dead on her feet. She wasn't much use to anyone in her current state. Even so, as Tibor gave orders to his men, she pointed to a large building nearby, calling after the captain.<b>"Over there."</b>It was one of the few still relatively undamaged, although the explosion of the grain silo had shattered a few windows. Pale, fearful faces peered out, the survivors inside hardly daring to believe their eyes.<br/><br/>Hoping he had heard, she stumbled her way towards the nearest wagon. The oxen yoked to its front lowed as she approached, the scent of death and monsters clearly making them nervous. Wearily, she patted its side, leaning against the animal for a moment before looking about. None of this was strange to her. Although she and her mentor usually worked alone, he had often joined up with other Blackguard as well to hunt larger game. Once they had even been temporarily part of a larger band like this, and as a man on horseback trotted by, she was afforded a closer look at the sigil every hunter here wore. She had heard of Raven company, one of the more established and formidable Blackguard groups, and she sighed in relief. Whatever else happened here to tonight, hopefully the worst of it was over, and they'd all live to see the sunrise.<br/><br/>One of the caravaneers, perhaps one who had seen her pull herself out of the mud and stumble over to Tibor, pressed a waterskin into her hands. She accepted it with a grateful murmur and pulled the cork free, tilting her head back to gulp the cool liquid. When her thirst was quenched, she splashed a bit over her face in an attempt to clean some of the soot and grime off her skin. Nothing felt broken, but she was sporting several bloody wounds where a monster's flailing claw had cut into her, and, knowing shambler-spawn, were likely to become infected if she didn't clean them out soon. The explosion had also left her a bit scorched, and she had winced as she wetted her face, her burnt skin protesting at the sensation.<br/><br/>Her ministrations were interrupted by a squawk of fear, and she looked up, concerned. Conscripted prisoners weren't an unusual sight among the Blackguard, she had come from similar origins herself, but she hadn't expected to see so<i>many</i>. Wrangling them all seemed as much of a hazard as traveling with a small party, and training and feeding them would be a trial in itself. What did Raven hope to do with so many? She had a sneaking suspicion that most here would meet their fate as cannon fodder, grunts to throw at a beast in order to wear it down so the true hunters could step in. It was a practice neither she nor her mentor had smiled upon.<br/><br/>The source of the cry was a boy around her age, maybe a few years older than she had been when she was first apprenticed. He was staring at something in the mud at his feet, and as Liirah's eyes traveled down, she felt her stomach lurch. You never got used to seeing dead people. Maybe you eventually learned how to deal with it, accept that fact that you couldn't save everyone, but she would never be<i>okay</i>with the sight of a corpse, especially only part of one. She forced herself to look back up, swallowing her nausea. The boy's fearful expression wasn't missed, and despite her bone-deep exhaustion, her brows furrowed in concern as he was pulled forward with the rest. Poor sod. He was in for a rough time.