Marius visibly bristles at the approach of the armored woman, looming just past Amara's shoulder as his jaw works for words where nothing sensible will come.  Every word trying to form on his tongue shrinks, becomes paltry, rote complaints, like some prey flitting from one nook to the next.  Questions to her identity, her purpose-- words to analyze, words to bring judgement-- useless for Marius, who knows words and action well enough to know that this is the time for one, not the other.<br/><br/>Marius looks at Thoris, as does Arden, with a level, calculating intensity.  In each of their minds, not just their own questions, but the unquestionable knowledge of experience and instruction, honed to a polished, bevelled point.   Arden, being the elder, is expected to speak first.  The beardless youth from the forest's edge, his ashwood bow feeling incredibly light in his hand now, does not know this, and tries to shuffle forward, eager to offer his services-- Arden's eyes raise slightly, offering not so much a gesture of disapproval as a fresh perspective for the youth to look upon.  The boy goes stiff, steps back, pretends he's merely restless and shuffles his broad feet over some upturned turf.<br/><br/>Certainly, Amara must expect there to be questions; interrogation, perhaps, at this strange woman's interest.  But Marius and Arden's mouths remain closed like grim, stone masks, as the distant, summer-heat buzz of a cicada starts up somewhere in the surrounding brush.  Hushed whispers have made their way around the village already... only the muted sobs of a few mourners remain, all others listen, or watch, for the decision's gravity to bring the pieces of their broken security down into the earth, to give them shape in the blood and dust of the burned fields.<br/><br/>"Liam will guide you," Arden says in a voice almost tender.  "Parzi, also."  The mands broad, thick-skinned hands grip the haft of the scabbard at his hip, and Marius' chest rises and falls with a steady sigh of resignation.  "Move while the trail is fresh, but know they will double back, they will lay ambush.  Trail them, but not as the pig hunting roots, trail like the hawk-- cut for sign, keep your distance."<br/><br/>Marius watches Arden's last, lingering gaze at Amara, before casting one of his own, the morning sun etching her face and dark eyes as if in gold leaf and ebon, before turning back to size up Thoris.  "We'll need equipment, decent armor.  Can you provide this?"<br/><br/>