For a moment Ardonne’s bow lowered in recognition of Zahir’s cautious approach before it - and the group as a whole - was forgotten completely. The youth was transfixed by the low, reverberating bellow coming from the swampy darkness of the woods. Her eyes strained for a glimpse, her breath went shallow, neck craning, pulse fluttering at her wrists and jawline before her lips curled up with enthusiasm. A breathless chuckle escaped without warning. She was distracted from her reveries when Galia called out to her and listened with a reinvigorated eagerness. She swung the bow to point into the woods. “There’s your beast, brave hunters!” she hollered back, drunk on adrenaline. “Within earshot! If you’re quick you can catch it before dawn!” Her challenge rattled through the cairns. She waited for no answer, merely hesitating where she stood before putting her arrow away and trotting up to the assembly of people by the road.

At a closer glance, Ardonne was undeniably the youngest of the group. No doubt she was half Galia’s age, a quarter of Zahir’s and remarkably swift and light on her feet in her approach. She wore no armour and only had fifteen arrows to her name along with the barest essentials. She was lean and cruelly built with an upturned nose and all the hot-blooded arrogance of youth radiating off her in droves. Her clothes were baggy, plain and pragmatically chosen for camouflage, and yet...they didn’t seem to fit her. Strips of leather and twine kept them from hanging off her body and getting caught on bristles and branches. Even up close she was incessantly restless. Her pale watery glare flitted from face to face, belt to belt, absorbing the collected party in glimpses and grimaces. It rested on Mort with recognition as she scratched her scalp and scrutinised the way he had aged. “Do you plan to wait ‘till morning?” she asked, directing it to him but leaving it open for discussion.