Amara offers a grateful smile at being presented with the bow.  This seems to invite a close inspection of her by Thoris, something which makes the girl distinctly uneasy -- not so much the being looked at, but the way of it, the cool intimacy, like being studied by an artist preparing to capture her in paint or marble, a bard judging whether or not she is worthy to be immortalized in song.<br/><br/>But it is the bow that truly captures Amara's attention, and this she studies like a connisseur, testing its weight and how it pulls, nodding her satisfaction after a moment or two.  She keeps it ready, as Marius does his, the posture natural to her.  The rapier can be drawn quickly, its smaller sibling also near to hand, but this is the way she hunts best.  It's more mountainous here than she's used to, but forests are forests, all of them familiar to her in their own unique ways, and she knows that at least she won't slow them down.  Her own rage is not quite the soldier's tempered fury, not quite the mysterious, almost chill fire of their new companion, but it is equally grim, equally determined, whatever faint doubts might slip through her mind.<br/><br/>"The bog is in that direction," volunteers Liam, the taller of the two, as they take those last moments to prepare their weapons.  "Well, it's large -- any journey this way will take you there."  He raises a hand, sweeping it along in a brief arc.  "A small army could hide there, if they know how to survive its dangers."<br/><br/>"And there's the city," Parzi cuts in, ignoring the glare from his friend.  "An ancient city, drowned now, but the bog-dwellers must know all about it."<br/><br/>"Rumors of a city, he means.  None of us have ever seen it.  But it's true there could be something hidden there, in all that space."  It's a faintly grudging admission, hinting at a long-standing argument, but even these headstrong young men realize that now is not the time for pointless disagreement.  "It's the best place to start," he adds, to general agreement.<br/><br/>Falling into step with Marius is natural; she has to check on Thorius' pace, but they soon find a pattern, an easy distance and a steady speed.  Like her and Marius, if not Thorius, their guides have grown up with this, moving among the trees like deer, or perhaps wolves in this case.  They will all be quick, but can it be quick enough?  It has to be, she tells herself; it has to be.<br/><br/>The terrain dips and rises, not much but often, not enough to slow them.  Soon, after one last, larger hill, the ground begins its slow, steady sweep down, seeking the level of the bog.  Nothing of that can be seen yet, hidden by trees and distance, but Amara tenses faintly just the same.  There is something uneasy in the air, something obscurely familiar, though she cannot quite chase down the memory.  But it seems to tease at all her senses at once, pulling her forward, drawing her slightly ahead of her usual place at Marius' side as they move on.