[h3]Domhnall, Iridiel and Angora[/h3]

	After a few seemingly too long moments (one could begin to think the poor fellow had managed to knock himself out on his way down), the probably quite humiliated squire slowly got up. [i]“I’m fine,”[/i] he squeaked, before clearing his throat and trying again. [i]“Turns out mud doesn’t care who you are, either. I...”[/i] He faltered, then sighed. [i]Mud doesn't care who ... the what now?[/i]
	"Dinnae know wha' were ya doin', lad, but I s'pose tha'd be one way tae obtain camoflage if ya don' have one given by nature," the forestfolk expressed, absently scratching one black-bearded cheek as the dark brown-green eyes in his brown-and-green splotched face confusedly took in the young black-eyes's newly modified appearance. "One'd figure ya ha' a crossbow aimed a' yer heed, but ain't more than a crow in these trees."  

	[i]Oh dear. No sooner have I gotten clean than this one decides to take a mud bath.[/i] Angora's inner thoughts were a mixture of confusion and humour. This once-stoic defender of peace and morality, reduced to gibbering fits of ... what could only be described as palsy. Well, it was either that or he'd had a slight mental breakdown and probably needed a massage, a good stiff drink and lots of pampering, either one of them. 
	He was also decidedly less majestic-looking as a result of this misadventure; his once-brilliant white shirt and his breastplate, both of them were now [i]very[i/] brown ... as was the majority of his face ... and his hair. Angora bit back a laugh at the irony of his situation - no longer was he the knight in shining armour who pronounced sentence upon the accused! Now, he was in the mud and the blood with the rest of them... 
	Was he going to succumb to a spirit lurking in his sword too, and then have to have a foreign healer repair his own mind? Mmh. Perhaps not. [i]Don't curse it, Angora.[/i] 
	The squire, for what it was worth, had wiped away the majority of the mud before attempting to speak, only for his voice to fail him. He squeaked out a declaration of wellbeing. Angora wasn't convinced. Her smile hadn't faded, for all this - she checked the mud underneath where he had, uh, [i]'fallen over'[/i], for rocks and any stony promonitories. No sharp edges. No blood. Good. Could have been hazardous to his health - even more so than the sight of her nude form. A cut in the mud like that would easily become infected, and though the aforementioned healer was somewhat awake, Angora would rather her abilities weren't immediately tested.
	She heard the brown and green splotchy man - Domhnall, she quickly reminded herself - start talking in his coarse, rough speech. A crossbow aimed at the head? Crows? Oh, right. He had assumed that the squire had dived for cover from an unknown assailant! Perhaps not exactly false, given the circumstances, though the assailant was quite known, and she didn't [i]need[/i] a crossbow aimed at his head. Angora shrugged and returned her focus to the squire, seemingly oblivious to his shame and his embarrassment. 
	"Well, uh ... you take care of yourself, right? That looked painful, and you're kinda lucky that you didn't hit a rock or something. Would have been quite the mess if you had, too." She picked up Jaelnec's hat and offered it to him, though the hat had also fallen victim to the seemingly ever-present earth.
	And then, to compound Angora's shivering chilliness ... she felt the first few drops from the sky fall upon her head, trickling down her black hair and into her eyes. She could taste the water as it dripped onto her lips, as a drizzle slowly emerged into a torrent from the menacing clouds above. Rainwater ran in rivulets down Angora's neck, down her back, down her chest, splashing against her bare skin in the rents in her clothing. 
	"We... should probably get moving." It was increasingly difficult to hear oneself over the noise of the rainwater now pounding down on the leaves and trees around them.
	At least the squire wouldn't have to worry about the mud for long.

	Well, the very least his well-honed hunter's instincts were not off, Domhnall wryly thought to himself, now beginning to genuinely shiver rather than just briefly shudder from the abrupt change of temperature. It had been but a couple of minutes since he had assessed the threat of impending rainfall as the greatest threat over their heads, and sure enough, here it was. 
	"I'm won' tae agree with the lass here," the forestfolk agreed, half-speaking loudly, half-shouting over the rain and his own shivering. He'd probably die of hypothermia if he continued to stand there much longer. "So le's pick up our things an' get going, aye?" The things which, incidentally, were all over the place. 
	With luck, the rain would not be for long - sudden downpours like this seldom were. It was entirely possible it wasn't that expansive, either - the leader of this rag-tag group was probably quite right to take off ahead of them. Might have spared himself and the white-eyes a cold shower, for one. 
	Without further ado, he motioned Iridiel to come, and took off jogging to where most of their things had been left. The highlander woman, uttering an inventive stream of swearwords in her native tongue, followed after him.