The Iromakuanhe woman, draped in black, observed the scene from her vantage point, her rifle poised and ready. Emotions oozed from Morris and his group, a cocktail of bravery, confusion, and wariness.
After a brief moment of contemplation, she broke the silence. "I will accompany you, Colonial."
With graceful nonchalance, she descended from her perch, free-falling to the ground and landing with a whisper-soft touch, her knees bending slightly upon impact. Despite being the shortest among them, she wielded her four-foot rifle with an ease that made it seem like a child's toy.
It was evident that this formidable weapon had likely been responsible for neutralizing the armor they had encountered earlier. Now, the rifle transformed, its barrel retracting into a more compact and versatile configuration.
Morris owed her a debt, and they held the numerical advantage. These realities were not lost on the enigmatic woman, who had tailored her unwieldy weapon into a more practical form suitable for medium to short-range combat.
Both parties exercised caution and a certain wariness it seemed.