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RESPITE FALLS - INSIDE THE NORTH GATE - AFTERNOON
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Fiora has had to modify her jogging path, with the Guard being more careful with their watch and keeping the gates closed, she pauses to take a quick breather by the wagon train, the caravan having been unloaded and cleared out since Gareth returned, and seemingly no plans to pack things back up to send back to Bairnell until suitable guards can be posted. She takes out her canteen and takes a drink.
Narrator: While the caravan had been cleared out, it seems that there was one package left over, something left wrapped up under a bit of discarded cloth. It was easy to miss really, indeed, Fiora only notices because something metal underneath was just free enough to hit the light, and the glint is able to catch her eye.
Fiora puts her canteen back on her belt, checking her pulse when she spots the package. She glances around, checking to see if anyone is around that she can point out the package out to, before shrugging and walking over towards it. She reaches for the package, lifting up the cloth.
Narrator: Falling from the cloth is the most wonderful looking sword, incredibly ornate, the blade seemed to made of a golden metal, with a pinkish/purplish hilt. It's..not something you would think was just going to be 'forgotten about'. Fiora may not know much about magical swords, but..well, if she knew anything about what they might look like, this was the epitome of it.
Fiora blinks, looking at the sword as she carefully folds the cloth back. She glances around again, as if either the owner will be walking up behind her, or when she looks back the sword will be gone. All she can think is that it must belong to one of those Silver-Talon fighters she heard was on the caravan, but... how could they leave behind such a pristine weapon? She reaches out to pick it up, with at least some intention of finding the real owner (and the rest is curiosity about what such a weapon would feel like in her hand.)
Narrator: The blade is awkward..wait, no..after a bit of adjustment, it balances..perfectly. Normally, a sword needs a bit of 'understanding', the weight is a bit off, or doesn't perfectly align with one's own natural balance, but this one is perfect. It's like a blacksmith had gone out, and crafted it exactly for her. As the balance settles, gentle writing can be see on the blade "So that innocence can rest easy, I stand watch,". The sword's name is Zorya. It just..seems like a Zorya.
Fiora stumbles a bit with the sword at first, before it very quickly feels 'right'. She is trained in smithing, having forged her own armor and axe, and understands weapon balance and such better than most, perhaps. And she could almost swear Zorya was crafted for her hand... wait, where did that name come from? Regardless, she makes a few test swings before she notices the writing upon the blade, bringing it in closer to read the inscription to herself. "So that innocence can rest easy, huh?" She admires Zorya a little longer, thinking over the words.
Narrator: It's not a sentient sword, it doesn't ever think thoughts, or have opinions, but what it does have, is intent. This is the classic 'hero' sword. She can tell by how ornate and flashy it is. You don't make a blade out of gold (Not actually gold, but something that results in that colour) and then not have its wielder being out in front!
Gareth happens to be wandering nearby, having taken a bit of a break from instructing the guards in unconventional tactics for the time being as he just stretches his legs and gets a bit of a change of scenery. As he wanders by the north gate, he happens to spot Fiora off in the distance and he starts heading her way. He waves as he approaches the giraffe. "Hey there, Fiora! What's that ye've got in yer hands?"
Fiora is still staring at the blade, thinking about the inscription, the make of the sword, the design, the weight, and doesn't look up until Gareth calls out her name. "Eh? Oh uh... this sword was laying in the back of the wagon. I think it belongs to one of those Silver-Talon fighters? It's... just... so well made, I mean, wow." She heft the blade up as if it were weightless in her hand, making a few practiced swings to demonstrate it to Gareth. "I'm jealous you got to see them fight! Front and center, making a heroic stand against evil! Ha!"
Gareth blinks as Fiora gives him a better look at the blade, realizing more than a few things about it in quick succession. "Uh, wait... where did ye find that? Could have sworn I'd stowed that away properly..." He gives Fiora a flat look after a moment, "Were ye diggin' through me things again, lass?"
Fiora stops to give Gareth a look. "Why? Were you holding out on me? You already sent me two packages of fudge." She chuckles, idly doing a figure-eight motion with the tip of the blade, and points a thumb back at the wagon with her free hand, "I told ya! It was just sitting on the back of the wagon there."
Gareth shakes his head thoughtfully as he watches the skill with which Fiora wields the sword. "Nah, it just looks like the sword Sammi was usin' durin' the ambush on the road, is all. I have it stowed in me stuff, so I can give it back to her once she's fully recovered."
Fiora tilts her head, "Eh? That's the uh... the squid one right? The squid girlfriend?" She pauses her excercises, bringing the blade back towards her. "So wait, then whose blade is this?"
Gareth shrugs, not bothering to deny Fiora's initial queries this time around. He might be getting a bit more comfortable with Fiora considering Sammi his girlfriend. "If it's not the one Sammi was usin', no idea. Definitely doesn't look like anythin' the Silver-Talon agent and his guards were usin', though."
Fiora examines the sword curiously. "Huh. I mean... I guess I'll just hold on it until I can figure out the owner? I was thinking of naming it? Does it look like a Zorya to you? It looks like a Zorya to me."
Gareth looks at the blade with a bit of curiosity. Strangely enough the name does seem to fit perfectly. "Huh... Zorya, eh? I could see it, sure." He glances up at Fiora for a moment, "Ye only just found that and ye already gave it a name, hm? Didn't think ye were the sort to name weapons, unless ye have one fer yer axe that I didn't know about."
Fiora raises a hand to her chest, feigning injury, "Gareth!? I'm struck! Grieve will be so heartbroken you've forgotten her already!"
Gareth gives Fiora a dubious look as he scratches his head a bit. "I guess ye never really mentioned yer axe by name in the past few years we've known each other?" He shrugs, "Either that, or me memory's goin'. One o' the two."
Fiora laughes, "Maybe I didn't. Naming a weapon is a personal thing, you know? A real bond between the weapon forger and the weapon!" She raises Zorya in front of her dramatically, "Though with a weapon this well crafted, it deserves a name too, you know?"
Gareth chuckles as Fiora lifts the sword up. "It's a really well-crafted piece o' work, aye. As fer namin'... well, I wouldn't really know, since none o' me own gear have names." He grins a bit as he pulls his cutlass partway out of its sheathe, "Even if I've been usin' this same sword fer a couple o' decades, now."
Fiora sticks her tongue out, "And you haven't named it? I thought all pirates named their weapons?"
Gareth laughs a bit. "Nah, only a rare few do, and only after they've developed a reputation. Some folks consider namin' a weapon a curse, since they're sort o' obligated to always wield that specific weapon after doin' so."
Fiora laughs, "It's only a curse if the weapon's no good." She lowers the blade, eyes falling on the inscription again. "So hey, what do you think about this?" She points to the text etched upon the blade.
Gareth leans forward a bit to read the inscription on the blade. "'So that innocence can rest easy, I stand watch,'... Huh, high ideals, eh? No wonder ye took a shine to that blade." He lightly pokes a nail at the end of the sentence, specifically at the comma, "Though, what's with this mark, here? Never heard of a full inscription with endin' punctuation..."
Fiora grins, "Just a bit, I suppose. It's sorta... what I want to be, you know?" She blinks, examining the blade closer. "Eh? I mean... huh. Is that not the right mark there? I never inscribed anything before."
Gareth shrugs a bit. "I don't know, unless that's just a scratch or somethin', looks like whoever was inscribin' the thing probably wanted to write more, maybe?"
Fiora pulls the blade back. "Huh. Weird. Wonder what the rest of it is...?" She sighs, glancing down to her side, as if hoping for a scabard. "I uh, guess I'll ask around to see if anyone misplaced it, anyways."
Gareth hums and nods. "Wouldn't be a bad idea, aye, if someone's missin' it. Piper isn't the sort to use a sword, since she's got those punchin' daggers, I've got me weapons right here, Phoebe and Aelia were hidin'... I'll go and check me pack back at the Minnow later, see if I didn't somehow drop Sammi's sword."
Fiora nods a bit vacantly, still looking at the blade. "If not... is finding a sword like finding a stray coin? I mean... if we can't find the rightful owner... it's a really nice sword."
Gareth shrugs. "I don't see why ye can't hang onto it and use it fer yerself until ye find whoever owns it. After a while, might as well just keep it."
Fiora grins a bit. "Fiora and Zorya. Even sorta rhymes." She shrugs, doing a bit of a flourish with the blade before she starts walking. "Huh. Guess I should head back to the training grounds first. Was just finishing up my warm-up jog. I'm guessing you're heading back that way too?"
Gareth hums and nods. "Wasn't plannin' anythin' in particular, but I don't see why not. Might as well go and see how the guards are gettin' along now that they've had a break from me instruction."
Fiora carries Zorya at her side rather casually, as if she's had it her whole life. "Brun and I talked about it a little last night... feels a bit weird, you know? Defending a home."
Gareth hums in agreement as he strolls alongside Fiora. "Mmh, I can see that bein' a bit odd, since we never really stayed in any place fer long enough to call it home before now. At least, not since we started bounty huntin' together." He tilts his head at Fiora, "So, the two of ye managed to settle in nicely at that place o' yers?"
Fiora nods, "It's not much... I mean... it's kind of a wreck, honestly. But it's big enough for the two of us, and we figure we can fix it up."
Gareth nods. "Nothin' a bit o' elbow grease can't fix, I'm sure. As long as the house isn't already collapsin', ye can fix it up easily enough, I'm sure."
Fiora chuckles, "Nah, it's got good bones. A bit of hard work together and we'll make it work..." She looks towards the west. "Once we deal with this mess."
Gareth hums again. "Mmh... haven't really had a chance to work on me own place out by the bay with all this stuff goin' on. Once we help deal with all this, I guess we'll have a good enough reputation that this town will really be somethin' o' a home base, aye?"
Fiora: "Heh, guess so. So long as we don't hunt anymore of the locals..."
Gareth: "Exactly. I think I'll probably just leave any new bounties on the board, if they're fer anyone in town."
Fiora grins as they turn towards the training grounds. "Excepting hunting for the missing folks, that is."
Gareth chuckles. "O' course, Fiora. That kind o' huntin' is the good sort fer wherever we decide to call home. Savin' folks, makin' sure they get back okay."
Fiora turns towards one of the sparring rings, raising a hand in farewell to Gareth. "On that, we definitely agree. Good luck with your trainees!"
Gareth waves at Fiora as the two part ways in the training grounds. "And good luck to whoever thinks they can stand against ye, Fury. They're goin' to need it!"
Fiora grins, "Damn straight." She enters into the sparring ring, hefting up the sword rather curiously once again, having somehow both forgotten she was holding it, the blade feeling so light and natural in her hand, and also unable to forget it. She glances at one of the training dummies and nods, whispering to herself, "Alright Zorya, let's see what you can do, eh?"
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THE THIRSTY MINNOW - EARLY EVENING
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Erika saunters into the bar, exhausted but happy after having spent all day delivering veggies and fruit to anyone and everyone in need. She'd be in a good mood anyway, but now she's a bit extra because she's improved the day for so many people. Sure, her garden would need severe re-growing and pruning and rethinking after all this, but that's not a today-Erika's problem, that's a future-Erika problem. She gets herself a glass of water and sits down, smiling as she looks around the bar.
Phoebe slinks into the bar, glancing around cautiously. She's been a little self-concious about her walking the past few days after the Doc pointed it out, and now she can't stop thinking about it. Yet another thing that's not even hers. She goes to the bar and slides onto a stool, flagging the barkeep for a shot, breathing out a sigh.
Erika smiles and waves at Phoebe as she enters: "Hey there! Nice to see you've decided to stay around - not that we have huge options for that right now, but anyway. Hi!"
Phoebe glances at Erika, raising an eyebrow at the perky okapi. "Err... hi. Yeah, well, I'm limited on options even beforehand, so whatever." She takes the shot of whiskey and downs it, getting another which she proceeds to spin in the glass. "Erika, right. Your map was... sorta helpful."
Erika blinks: "Map? What map?" She pauses, then her eyes widen: "Ooh, right, map! That one. No worries, glad it was useful!" She sips at her water as though it was something a lot sharper, fake-winces at the taste, then giggles. "So how do you like Respite so far?"
Phoebe shrugs, "It's a nicer city than Policaster. Less... fake. So far, at least. We'll see."
Erika nodnod, then blinks and shakes her head. "Yeah. I mean, no. Haven't been to Policaster, so can't compare. But probably?"
Phoebe gives a sharp laugh, "Well, that's the only place I'd ever been before coming here. Guess I saw that snake port too, and the port town here. Barnknell? I didn't... stick around much for those." She frowns. "Policaster feels like someone took a teapot and dropped it in the mud."
Erika giggles at the comparison. "Been in Respite all my life, but not really felt like leaving either. My garden's here, my family's here, I know most of everyone."
Phoebe watches Erika as she talks, then breathes out a sigh. "Yeah, well, I don't know anyone. The mercenaries I traveled in with, but who knows how long they'll be around. I really only have myself to rely on." She lifts her glass and spins the liquor, watching it close.
Erika shakes her head sharply: "Not true!" She grins: "You now know me. You can rely on me if need be, it's not like I as said would vanish from Respite." She leans on the bar, smiling genuinely warmly at the wolf.
Phoebe leans back from Erika, again eyeing her suspiciously. "Why?" She seems genuinely uncertain of Erika's pronouncement.
Erika shrugs with a smile: "You seem like you could use a friend, and I'm available."
Phoebe watches Erika a moment longer before turning back to the bar. "You really don't want to be my friend."
Erika tilts her head, confused: "Why not? You're a bit grumpy, but so is my ex at times and we're still friends."
Phoebe takes a sip of her shot. "You don't know anything about me, and I just... I can't afford to let folks get close, okay? I... I gotta watch out for me first."
Erika leans back, shrugging: "Fair enough. Just thought I'd offer since we're all kinda scrambling to get something stable right now." She pauses, musing: "At least, I think I'm stable enough."
Phoebe eyes Erika again, then back to her drink, clearly conflicted. She slowly sets the shot glass down. "I mean... I couldn't exactly stop you from hanging around me, if you wanted..."
Erika shrugs again, slighting tilting her head: "Do you want me to leave you be? I can do that too."
Phoebe clenches her fist, ears dropping back. "I... didn't say..." She glances away, then sighs. "No... it's... fine. It's... bad luck to drink alone."
Erika smiles brightly and nods, but stays sitting where she is, taking a sip of her drink: "That it is! And if nothing else, I can keep loneliness at bay, I'm told I fill the room. Whatever that means."
Phoebe smirks, "Well, they say two's company, and three's a crowd, so..."
Erika waves her free hand, grinning: "Something like that. Honestly, does it matter? You get company now, and the bestest there is - me!"
Phoebe nods, very clearly out of her comfort zone but trying to do... something? "Well, that's good. All you got is me."
Erika smiles: "Everyone needs some company though." She hums: "I usually ask what brings someone to Respite, but given all the-" she waves her hand again: "-stuff, probably best I don't pry there. Instead, what'sit that you do?"
Phoebe sighs, "Nothing... yet. I don't know. Got a bit of coin to keep me here... but I can't really work regular hours. So... not much I can do. I'm pretty much a waste of space for some one else."
Erika looks at Phoebe sadly: "Aww. Don't say that. No one's a waste of space. Everyone's got something they can do to help, or just make a coin for themselves..."
Phoebe shrugs, "It's the truth though. That's why I'm here, I guess. Fighting tooth and nail to stay alive... figure out who I am, really."
Erika nods, listening. She then gets a bit of a smirk on her face and leans over to poke Phoebe on the side: "So... who are you?"
Phoebe blinks, "Eh? Oh uh... I go by Phoebe. It's just... a name I picked out. Sorta the only thing that's really mine I guess..." She shakes her head. "Is that weird to say? I mean, it's not."
Erika tilts her head: "Lot of folks come to Respite with just about the clothes they got on." She pauses, blinking: "...name you 'picked out'?"
Phoebe turns to look at Erika, shifty eyed. "Yeah, well. If you had a chance to pick your name, what would you pick?"
Erika blinks, pausing. "I... I don't know? I've always been Erika, it's... huh." She hums, lifting her hand to her chin: "Coral? Nah, that'd be a pretty silly name, wouldn't it." She turns back to the wolf: "I guess Phoebe's a good name. Sorry."
Phoebe shrugs, "Eh, it's fine. It's... my name. That's all. I guess I like it, that's all."
Erika smiles: "That's all that matters, then."
Phoebe manages to smile back. "Well... whatever. Why don't you tell me more about you, then? Tell me more about Respite... or, what it's like when it's not so... anxious."
Erika leans back, humming: "Well, Respite's pretty calm, really. Plenty of wildlife around, but inside the walls is almost... mundane, sorta. People are friendly because... well, because most everyone in Respite has left something behind. Gotta stick together to make this work out here."
Phoebe thinks on that a moment, finishing her second shot. "Maybe that's the difference. I didn't have anything to leave behind. Just... what I brought with me."
Erika shrugs: "I dunno. What did you bring with you? I mean, if you want to tell me."
Phoebe hesitates, looking at the empty glass for a long moment of debate. She sighs at long last and shakes her head, "No. I... not yet, okay?"
Erika smiles, nodding: "Yuh, I understand. I wouldn't want to tell you about the elemental that invaded my garden either, yet." She pauses: "Probably."
Phoebe raises an eyebrow once again, but shakes her head once more. "Well... I won't ask then. I don't know much about friends... but they keep secrets, right?"
Erika smiles warmly, raising her glass of water: "That's the gist of it, yup."
Phoebe smiles back, still a bit uncertain, but trying. "Then... give it time, alright? And... we'll see. This is... new for me."
Erika leans back, still grinning: "You got it. Take your time, it's not like I'm going anywhere. But if you need a friend..." She doesn't feel like she needs to finish the sentence.
Phoebe 's smile widens ever so slightly as she turns back to the bar, waving for another shot from the barkeep. There is a little bit of unfamiliar warmth in her belly that seemingly has nothing to do with the booze, as she just sits besides Erika in a unusually comfortable silence.
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THE EDGE OF AEPHIX - THE GREAT EXPANSE - MIDNIGHT
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Narrator: Under the orders of Xeilzrus The Whisperer, Louma has once again been tightly bound with rope around the wrists and wings, loaded into a cart and then further restrained with an unforgiving, heavy net with little give. They set out from Yzzayt's Prominence within the hour, and start the harsh journey down the mountain then across the desert, heading south. It has been three full days since they left. Every now and then, a Pterosaur flies overhead, travelling the same line the cart below is. North to south, or visa versa. Relaying messages between Yzzayt's Prominence and Yzzayt's Abyss no doubt, though also keeping an eye on the cart. Tonight is the third night, and the Saurs have set up temporary camp once more. A small fire is the only thing the pack of 10 Saurs seem to need to make it through the night. Thankfully, the clouds are thick in the air above tonight, helping to keep the desert from getting too cold. A Saur approaches to take first shift over Louma's cart and the desert as a whole as per usual, dressed in their bone and fur armours like the rest, spear at their back and knife on their hip.
Louma had put on perhaps a little too much in her effort to get sent away, though she had somewhat expected the full bindings would be used no matter what. Being in the net has had a strong effect on the Orelan, though, leaving her more afraid than she should be, her mind unable to focus on the idea of escape as she feels like nothing has changed since her capture, other than her wings no longer being in pain. She turns her head slightly, as much as she dares, looking toward the guard that has approached to watch over her. Perhaps the other factor in her current submissive state is the fact that she has no idea who, if any, among these guards she can trust to help, by Tizza's word. Honestly, the thought that Tizza had been against her from the beginning had repeatedly crossed Louma's mind.
Narrator: The guard keeps his distance, at first. The other Saurs talk around the fire, cooking their basic rations and occasionally laugh, their morale decent. It takes an hour or so for the Saurs to drift to sleep. It is at this point that the guard steps closer to Louma. Uncomfortably close. Silently, he stares at Louma, then averts his gaze to the knife on his hip. A knife that is oh so tantalisingly within Louma's reach.
Louma has managed to sleep well the previous two nights, despite the conditions, but something about the heavy cloud cover has her a bit resstless. Though her eyes had closed while the saurs chatted, the guard's movement next to her snapped her attention back to him. Her eyes catch on the knife first and foremost, then dart back toward the campfire. She doesn't dare speak, in case she's read the intention wrong, but the taloned fingers on her right hand wriggle through the hole in her unwelcome rope blanket, at just the right height to grip the knife's hilt if it were a couple inches closer. A notable gesture if she's right, and hopefully a harmless one if she's wrong.
Narrator: The guard looks directly at Louma's hands with crossed arms, following Louma's arms back up to her face, locking eyes with her. His expression stays stoic, holding that gaze with Louma for several seconds that really seem like minutes. Then, with a shuffle, he takes one step closer to Louma, still with those crossed arms and stoic demeanour.
Louma stares directly at the guard, holding his gaze for a few moments before tilting her head ever so slightly, her eyes shifting to stare among the other guards again. It doesn't take much effort to slip the knife gently out of its sheathe. She manages to pull it back into the net, resting the blunted side against her side as she slowly starts working her wrist ropes against the sharp edge. Her eyes dart among the saurs as she does, occasionally returning to track the generous one.
Narrator: The Saur nods at Louma. "Take it with you." He mutters quietly. He steps away from Louma, back to the normal guarding distance the others have kept thus far, though is between Louma and the camp, helping obscure Louma's upper body movements from the sleepy Saurs.
Louma gives a small nod as she continues to work. From her own experience at their village, she wouldn't call them primitive, but with these saurs in their bone armor, she still has a moment of wonder at both the strength of their cordage, as well as the sharpness of their blades. She can feel the wrist bindings loosening, stopping short of them actually cutting through. Her fingers can just brush the ropes that encircle her body, holding her wings against her. She turns the blade toward that rope, blindly starting to saw at it. She slow her efforts again when she feels the bindings stretching, holding the knife out of sight for the time being. Her whisper barely leaves her bill, looking toward Tizza's ally; "When?"
Narrator: The Saur glances behind himself at Louma, gruffly looking at her, "Short time after next scout above, Sister." He quietly responds, tapping the bone horn also strapped to his side.
Louma glances at the horn, letting out a light sigh and nodding once. She keeps an eyes turned towards the other guards in turn, and briefly, the fate of the one who'd helped her crosses her mind. She's tempted to tell him to nick someone elses knife so he isn't too obviously blamed, but bites her tongue. Adding more steps will only increase potential problems, he probably has a plan. Instead, she lets the nervous energy build as she waits for the perfect moment.
Narrator: Two hours later, a Pterosaur finally flies overhead the camp, gazing down at the group as they soar, their form a shadow against the softly illuminated clouds of the sky from what little moonlight is able to make it through.
Louma has felt like she's been holding her breath, but manages to be just patient enough. The captain had managed to quietly work away at a few of the tie points between the net and the cart, and as the campfire grew a little more dim, and so the clouds that little bit more bright, she felt completely awake. Recognizing the shadow against the clouds, her eyes dart back to those in the camp. She wants the flying scout to be well on their way and so counts the seconds in her head, shifting her body slowly enough to make almost no noise while she bunches up on the cart. A couple minutes after the scout has passed, the cart lets out a creak, the weight of it's load having shifted mostly to one side. She takes that as her cue, pulling her arms free of the frayed bindings and gripping the edge of the cart and the net in each hand. She pushes the net up and drags herself free of the net, her tail providing a sudden darting burst as it pushes her off the cart, through the dying embers of the campfire. The embers flash and flicker as they scatter, then fade to nothing much as her form does when she slithers low into the desert scrub. She doesn't let out any cries of victory, or any taunts. The only thing she can hear is the air rushing by her and the hammering of her heart. As she sprint-slithers along, shifting her direction repeatedly, Louma sheds the last of her bindings and spreads her wings, trying to find that delicate balance between far enough from the camp, but soon enough to ensure a speedy escape.
Narrator: Almost immediately as the Louma escapes the cart, the guard watching over Louma turns to face her. He pulls out his horn, bringing it to his lips and blowing through it. The entire camp snaps awake in a daze, their vision blurry as they look all around for the danger. Some spot Louma's escape, and both the guard who sounded the alarm and the camp as a whole begin to follow after Louma. The fastest two of the group are Raptors, while the rest fail to keep up and quickly fall behind. The two raptors are capable of keeping pace with Louma's ground speed and indeed, exceeding it. Within thirty to forty seconds of the horn having been sounded, they are within spear-throwing range of Louma and both would do so should Louma attempt take off.
Louma can't hear the thumps of the feet rapidly approaching her, but a sense of danger grows as she considers the implications of that horn. A good cover, for sure. She spreads her wings, dipping her torso low to angle them flat before taking off into the air with a cloud of dust and downy feathers. As her tail sways along, she feels the first of the two spears strike her scales, thankfully bouncing aside from a poor flight angle. The other seems to fall short, though well within Louma's sight as she begins gaining altitude which leaves her to briefly wonder if the second was deliberate or not. Her air speed well exceeds her ground speed, and the diminished moonlight highlights multiple ridges that she tilts towards, hoping to disrupt any pursuers' paths as she breathes the deepest sigh of relief.
Narrator: The saurs quickly stop giving chase once Louma is airborne, having no realistic way to both catch up and engage the escapee. Dejected and angry, the saurs regroup at their camp and begin to argue, most notably against the guard whose knife is mysteriously missing.
Louma hardly slows in her flight, only taking a brief moment to get her general bearings before redirecting herself Eastward. When the sun rises, she can get some height to find her way to Respite. Until then, Louma glides along fuelled by adrenaline and excitement.