Lady Lyn glanced at the burning warehouse ahead of them. "So... we did not do that?"
Caspar shook his head. "No, m'lady. We did not."
Lady Lyn gave a dull nod. "Huh." She glanced around. "We scattered the Prince's Men?"
"Mmm-hmm," replied Caspar, eyes darting to the woods. "Armin and the others are hounding them away to make certain we've got plenty of distance between us and them when we head for the hills..."
"Right, right," said Lady Lyn, as she walked forward.
Caspar's eyebrow raised slightly. "Are you walking towards the burning warehouse?" Lady Lyn did not answer. "You are. You are walking towards the warehouse that is on fire, and was set on fire by persons unknown." Lady Lyn continued forward. "You are really a most exasperating young woman, you know that?" he stated. "You are most fortunate we are kin!"
"That's never been proven," stated Lyn, as she headed forward.
Caspar grumbled to himself, as he followed after her. "This is the most awful, most unbearable job that ever a retainer of this great house has ever drawn," he stated fixedly. "And I include Grandion, who was hung by his feet and lashed due to his great loyalty to the same." He ambled forward. "After all, he at least got paid for it. With his own little palace."
They had just reached the clearing where the warehouse was located. Two men were hurriedly rushing away from it. "Hold!" said Lady Lyn, leveling her bow at them. The pair froze, hands on their weapons. Caspar fancied himself enough of an expert on body language to suspect that they were doing a mental reckoning of their distance from his mistress, and he suspected, coming to a rather distressing conclusion on that matter. "Be you Prince's Men, or no?" she declared in a ringing voice.
The pair were silent for a moment. "Whichever doesn't get us killed," said one, hurriedly.
Lady Lyn blinked. "Gregory...? Gregory, is that you?"
One of the men blinked. "Gwen? Gwendolyn, what are you doing here?"
Gwendolyn Laodegan shrugged. "Well, for a start, this is my home still, Gregory. But as for the moment, oh, heading a resistance movement. You?"
The man looked around sheepishly. "I'm a soldier for hire now," he explained.
Lyn gave a bright laugh. "Well, funny old world, eh?" She glanced at Caspar. "Don't you agree?"
"Quite, quite." He peered at the man fixedly. "You're Gregory Tyne, aren't you?"
"That's right, sir," he answered.
"I'm Mosca," stated his companion.
"I was supposed to club your skull in once," explained Caspar. He gestured at Lyn. "Her father's orders. Only you gave us all the slip."
"Like I said," noted Lyn, "funny old world."