Well.

A moment of quiet, stillness at the bottom of the ravine. Then, with a dusting of the hands, Marcoulf climbs out from behind the thicket of dry branches and crumpling leaves that had more or less screened them from view of anyone who might have glanced up toward the top of the ravine. No need for that precaution, apparently.

With a hand to minding the sword at his hip, he promptly begins picking his way down the mud and shale to inspect their work.