Grumbling and cursing, Jakar hopped out of the carriage. His aching limbs once again attested to the fact that he really wasn't getting any younger, and perhaps quite the opposite. With a slight limp he shambled off to a spot in the clearing where he idly stretched himself. Though he did so with an easy air, his eyes were constantly active, flickering this way and that as he took in the clearing, the carriage, the milling about of the other passengers. He was assessing the glade for any sort of danger, spots that might conceal an ambush, points where he could mount an effective defence, routes the civilians could use to escape. Old habits from his days as a scout that he refused to break. 

	He quickly satisfied himself that they were under no imminent danger of onslaught and retrieved his great longbow. He strung it with a grunt, thinking he might help hunt some game for the evening meal, but his attention was attracted by a gesture from Dyllon. A moment's hesitation--he hadn't done anything to draw attention to himself during the journey, as far as he could recollect--but what harm could there be? He moved to join the other travellers beginning to congregate around the dwarf.