Fallon kicks at the heap of rocks, then turns back to the group.  "Not fucking likely."  The wood elf spits into the grass, looks over the bodies she's helped heap onto the fire, then turns back to their own caravan.  Even irate-- as she clearly is-- her gait bears the swaying-hipped grace of an indecent entertainer.<br/><br/>She works a moment to untie the tarp and throw it back from their own wagon's crates.  "Let's pop these things open-- careful, in case they<i>are</i>what they say.  Maybe this caravan was to distract them from us-- to give us a better chance of getting through.  But if we're carrying rocks too, then I think our answer's settled-- we'll follow the tracks."<br/><br/>Using her warhammer, she taps up at an angle to loosen the nailed-town top of one of their own vaccine crates.