[The woman she's come upon holds herself in a similar regal fashion, watching the other woman approach with little concern. She's wounded, and apparently turned around while trying to ride a horse with no hands. She never got so far as to ride a horse, but she imagines that it's hard to do holding a sword in one hand and a wound in the other.]

Mind yours, lest you find yourself in a place where one wound is the least of your troubles. [She tilts her head in the other direction.] If your aim be to take our encampment with one steed and one leg, press on. Wisdom dictates you head away and to the southeast, before the soft-handed boy pissing against a tree spots his path upward and calls his fellows to give chase.