Crom had followed the group in relative silence, taking in their surroundings and keeping a watchful eye out for anything suspicious. Anything could happen on the open road. He briefly considered trying to clean the vomit from his cloak, but decided that was a task better suited for after they had set up some sort of camp. A bit of vomit was no worse than the blood of men and horses that had covered him while fighting Esterl's wars. Adrian seemed to fancy himself the group's leader. Crom found the boy's flamboyance entertaining, and saw no reason not to humor him, so long as they stayed heading in the right direction. The old mercenary wondered how far back Griff was, but had no doubt he would find them eventually. After a bit of walking, Adrian noticed another man farther up the road. After a bit of deliberation, Johnathon called out to the man, who then approached them. The disheveled figure in front of them seemed familiar. Crom vaguely recalled seeing him in the tavern. He seemed to be missing his tunic, and was wrapping himself tightly in his cloak. The mercenary noted that the man seemed to have specks of blood soaking through the garment. "Are you wounded, mate?" he asked, wondering whether the man had been caught in the chaos at the docks.