There were so many things that he wished to say in retort, but Cromwell kept his mouth shut and his footsteps light as he made an overly complicated path back home. Jumping a few feet to disturb tracks, walking off in one direction and then stepping in his own footprints going back, making redundant directions shifts. Everything he could think of to slow her down. Eventually, Cromwell made it back to camp. His men were all former soldiers, so it did not surprise him that the camp was already half disassembled. He dipped into his own tent quickly and stuffed his pack with his gear. He threw a shirt over his head and slid into his armor as quick as he could, so there was less to actually carry. When he was done, his pack was largely full and his tent empty of everything save his bedding, which was promptly lashed to the bottom of his pack. With that done, he stepped out the tent and pulled at the supports, collapsing it. The supports were used as a core as he folded and rolled the canvas up, using the spare supports as the rigging to bind it closed and to the side of his pack. The quiver was relocated to the opposite side, and the bow hung lazily from the pack itself.<br/><br/>His sword was then properly tied to his hip and his weaponry adjusted as he drug his pack into the middle of this thicket clearing, watching as the rest of the camp was pulled apart in much of the same fashion. Before too long, the only indication that anyone had been here were the dead fire pits and a telltale trench that had been filled in. It was then that Ashryn came into his view once again, as his men were moving out of the camp in another direction. The girl was persistant... or stubborn. Either way, he would give her that claim if she were to ever make it. Cromwell sighed and picked up his pack, sliding it over is shoulders.<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff0000">"Why are you so set on following us, girl?"</span>Cromwell asked, exasperated.