Tha'ael parts with the shovel with a nonchalance, showing little relief-- well, maybe a smidge-- that she won't be digging the sodden ground.  "I'll keep watch then," she says blankly, meeting Nalin's gaze and returning a curt nod, boyish in its energy and confidence, an absolute contrast to the liquid sway of her walk.   She hears the cleric's question and, averting her face to hide the brief eye-roll of one often questioned by the clergy, she crouches and seizes up one of the fallen men's ankles, dragging him through the mud toward the gravesite.  "Kind of ye, but I'm not wounded.  Thanks all the same..."  She eyes Ebric's cut, eyes flashing silvery in the dim light "Best take care of that... glad it wasn't worse."  She continues slogging on with the fallen brigand in tow.  "Gold and silver make a girl's heart flutter, but cheating death?  That makes 'em swoon."<br/><br/>At the edge of the gravesite, she winces at Ada's trick with the lights, shrugging her hood further forward on her eyes to block as much as she can.  Water spatters from the tugged fabric, and her face is half-hidden when she hears Nalin's question.  The dead man's weight settles into the mud with a squelch as she shrugs and turns back to the dwarven warrior.  "The four in back-- the horses had the crown's mark, half scored-out.  Stupid move for someone so close to the county seat as this, might bump into a patrol and could be killed for it outright."  Wiping her mouth with one gauntlet's wrist, she moves off to a point position from the pair of laboring men and threads her fingers over her bowstring to shed loose water.  The sound is almost musical to the keenest of ears.  "So they didn't care who knew.  That... their armor, their bows... the way they held their shortswords at their backs."<br/><br/>She stepped out into the rain, whipping her cloak over one shoulder heedless of the rain and sending a spray of it into the night.  "They rode up," she bent her knees, feet wide-- a loose stance, suggestive of a horse, one hand in front of her.  "They loosed them, ready to pull from the back."  The unhitches a simple leather loop, turning so that they can see the hilt's horizontal placement over the swell of her rump, then squares up to them once more, resuming the wide-legged stance.<br/><br/>"Then, they'd have done this."  She saunters up to Ebric, pantomiming... play-acting a friendly strut, angling her head to reveal her wide, maniacal grin-- smooth lips the color of dusk drawn back from gleaming, even teeth and pink gums, she reaches her hand from her side as if to shake Ebric's hand.  She dips her face and bends at the waist-- the gesture ingratiating, forcing him to bendin turn-- then she twists her own arm and, smoothly, tucks the flat of the sheathed blade against the inside of the Cleric's thigh-- still smiling, still meeting his eyes.<br/><br/>"Sorry, there," she says, giving him a gentle pat before straightening her tall form and sauntering back to a perch at the edge of the woods, where the branches give some meager shelter-- or perhaps its illusion-- from the daunting rain.