Crom reached up, pulling himself into the cart with the help of Johnathon and the hooded stranger. He winced. Raising his arm had stretched his torn shoulder. As he made it into the cart, he took a seat near some of the other travelers and grabbed his shoulder, trying to apply some pressure so he wouldn't bleed all over the man's cart. Johnathon and Griff were talking about making bandages. He looked over to his comrades. "Aye, I'd appreciate that." He didn't know how exactly he wanted to die, but he knew it wasn't bleeding out in the back of a merchant's cart in Estovet. The soldier looked around at the other travelers. Most seemed rather normal, and didn't inspire any particular reason to be concerned. Still, Soah's warning echoed in Crom's head. He hoped the werewolf was wrong.