Esther was no exception from the norm, one of the many (if not all) dazed and curious soldiers to land on the New World. Thanks to the three months' trip, Esther found his estoc to be a surprisingly effective rest for his chin, standing or not.

Still, he had a pang of pity for less fortunate travelers.  The particularly heavier passengers (in terms of the circumferences of their bellies) had already mixed the scents of their rapidly-scarfed rations with the salty waters; fortunate the latter was much stronger than butyric acid.  Whatever still registered into his nostrils was enough cause for pangs of self-pity, too.

"Esther," he chimed in, seemingly as though he had came out of nowhere.  "Esther Dietrich.  Now, I believe there is food to be had...that a-ways, no?"

Something was making Esther a bit uncomfortable.  His steps were lighter than usual, even with all his equipment on, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.   It's like his back had no burden to bear, but he was sure he was supposed to be lugging something around...

And there was movement in the treeline.  Enemy?

No, just a guard patrolling.  That checked one possible job off the list; unwieldy as he felt, Esther had a fort to orient himself with, and so he panned his eyes over the rest of his group.

At least, it would seem.  He was trying to pan a view of the entire fort from where he stood, but with an especially massive revenant in the way...