Wyren looked pale. Not the pallid that someone of lesser shade might be, but given his complexion there was a definite pallor and a slight tinge of green as they arrived at their destination. He kept composure and his most recent meal, however, only lurching slightly as he landed. "Not my favorite method of travel. Effective, though." He had tied the pouch off and put it on his belt for easy access, divvying out potions if others thought they would see a need in the immediate future. He kept the scrolls, mostly because in any given situation he would be likeliest to survive long enough to use them.<br/><br/>Even before they had landed, the bow was out. Wyren without a bow in hand was likened unto seeing him naked, and the last time anyone present recalled it he had been attending an awards or recognition ceremony. They told him he couldn't be on stage in front of dignitaries armed. Secretly, he'd had three throwing knives in his boot and a palmed kunai. He could no more be unarmed than he could be restrained. The very notion was beyond him, as foreign as being a cucumber. Wyren assessed the state of his comrades, before moving to listen at the door, careful where he stepped. Paranoia was a state of mind, and living was always the end goal.