Tha'ael curses softly under her breath and makes a quick gesture of contrition, touching her black-gloved fingers to her temple where her black hair forms a subtle 'widow's-peak'.  She exhales a long sigh before she begins looking for high ground-- seeking defensible positions nearby.  There's nothing she can do for the dead here, and not much to be gained from knowledge of their last moments of agony, except that their group is sorely outnumbered, and now, possibly, outmatched in battle.<br/><br/>While the others stare into the pit, she produces a small pouch of tobacco and a pipe from her belt, surveying the lay of the land as she presses the ground leaf into the bowl.  "Looks like you're up again, Ebirc."  She saunters her way over to the wagon and, scraping up a branch, takes a while to light her pipe.  "Damn, I should have tried to get laid a'forenight."