By the time that Big Red had the fire in place, the nomad archer was already neatly washing her clothes, using a bristle brush she usually used to groom her horse to scrub the bits of blood out as best she could. After all, medieval washing was only so good....and as such, little rusty brown splotches would remain. Not like it mattered that much to the girl though. After hanging her clothes to dry she would dive into the river without hesitation. She would shiver, of course, but you got used to the shock of cold water after a moment.  With her silvery hair pooling around her, she looked less like a girl and more like a strange hairy monster that was in the middle of devouring a girl...or a wet alpaca. Either or, really, same difference.

Once she was duly cleaned and emerged with her sopping wet hair, the archer would take a seat by the fire and warm herself along with her washings, smiling in idle contentment. In spite of the cold water that clung to her skin, she felt warm because of her companions. She hoped the girl they found could, somehow, come back to a normal life, and held hope that nobody would suffer a fate like that. ...But, that was all it was, was hope. Nothing substantial enough to change the world. Warming her hands by the fire, the girl found herself lost staring at the embers. How long had that girl been there? What exactly did they do to her? 

...And why did nobody ever tell her goblins were so...evil?