Max couldn't believe what she was hearing. Maybe it was easy for men (and Dwarves, for that matter) to invite danger, especially if they were well armed, and knew their weapons well. She wasn't a warrior, she was a servant of the Goddess on a divine mission, and discovery and capture weren't high on her list.
She clutched the cut on her side, which had dribbled over the dash in her armor where the hob's blade had missed the metal studs, and stained her tunic. It burned, but it was bearable. They needed to get off of the road, and get patched up.
"Thorn, you'd might as well roll the rest of these highwaymen. Their purses will pay for their mistakes. Garth, help me move the bodies off of the road. We'll find a place to hide them, a drift of leaves, or something. Yuri, keep an eye out. Call if trouble comes. We'll get this done, find an inn, and call for a healer for these cuts. Sooner finished is sooner food."
She tore a strip of cloth off the hem of her cloak. The action made her wince, not because of the pain of her wound, but more because the garment had been new. She wrapped the strand of warm fabric around the crystal, tying it in place. Maybe that would be enough to keep prying eyes, and hands, off of them. Satisfied, she leaned the staff against a nearby tree, picked up one of the Hobs by his boots, and started dragging.
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