The air around the caravan shimmers with divine light for a moment, a feeling of ease and protection falling over those within the spells effect. A woop echoes from high in the canyon, shrill and far to guttural to be human. High in the canyon, an outcropping of stones let loose another volley, and the roses summarily return fire, though few find their home in targets as they fought against gravity. 

 Twenty some men and women, clad in ramshackle armor, seem to ooze out from between the canyon walls. The singular woop evolves into a chorus of hollers,the clanging of weapons on stone, and the ding of arrows as volleys bounce against the shieldwall. The ease that the light had brought moments before is quickly swallowed and the light dies, the feeling of dread returning, though now pressing itself into the back of ones skull (as though it was offended you even tried to rid yourself of it in the first place). 

The ambushers slide along the canyon walls towards the shield wall, advancing on the caravan from above with unnatural grace. A few stop, either to join their voices in the disturbing chorus or to shout incoherent challenges at their prey or to swat away stray shots from the roses archers. A few arrows strike true, but it seems to only amuse the assailants.

Indrau and the men nearest him are the first to make contact, the ambushers sliding (or in a few cases, haphazardly tumbling without a care) down the canyon wall to meet them. Some brush past them, rushing to make passing jabs at the shield wall. A dark haired man rushes Indrau, intent on bringing his spear head down on the elderly lion.