Priscilla had set to work on shining her armour and sharpening her blade with her back in the hollow of a tree. A long, tiring process but worth it nonetheless. She ran the rag over her pauldron once, twice and a third time to make sure she had wiped the salt from it and it took on that familiar metallic sheen that dimly reflected the sun. She had begun to don as much of the armour as she shone, but it was a long, long process. She had been at it for a while now, shining and then putting on the various bits of armour she had. As soon as she was fully dressed, she set to work on slowly pulling a whetstone down her blade as she looked around for any signs that there were others around, other people to talk to or save from peril.