"We go with you, we die, you leave us behind, we die, you kill us now, you kill us later-" A man grumbles off to one side, voice biting and frustrated- hurriedly hushed by one of the others. The girl again turns her eyes to Alistair, putting together the armor, that he'd been the one to cut Zevran down, scrabbling with what she knew of the Ombra Nera.

"We guarded the stables- or cooked. We are cuchillos. Not trusted with high value targets or information. We did not know who they were bringing or why." To Alistair, as he must know, did know, what it is to be a Crow. "Please."