Feeling a little out-of-place among her new comrades, Quitxi nods gravely in agreement at the notion of taking care.  She wipes the blade of the kukri knife on one of the captured bandit's shirts after she retrieves it from the floor.  "When we get there... let me go in first, quietly... it's my best chance of NOT ending up..." she pauses mid-sentence to sidle around one of the two puddles of cooling, thick blood that has begun to soak into the floorboards where the bandits were killed or maimed... "in a regrettable state."  She checks her gear, ensuring that she's got all she can carry and still move quickly, and snatching up the least-bloodstained rags she can should she need a quick disguise.<br/><br/>She steps out the door and moves down the street with her arms loose at her sides, assuming a stride of purpose, but not a swagger-- no need to advertise-- as she surveys the street.<em>They might have had a lookout</em>, she thinks as she subtly draws out her bow and a solitary, black-fletched arrow.