[IRP] Smugglers, Saints, and Spears

[Gazetteer]

Gwen, who had been leaning against the scaly red bulk of her dozing wyvern, got up with a leisurely stretch. "Sure thing, you're the boss she said, moving to collect her spear from where it rested on the ground as if she had all the time in the world.

Technically, as she was by far the fastest out of the group while on wyvern back, and she was to bring up the rear, she very much did have all the time in the world.

"Up and at-em, girl," Gwen said, patting Freyja firmly on the side. The wyvern, as if in imitation of her rider, stretched sinuously as she stirred from what had appeared to be a very relaxing nap. She made small grumbling sounds from deep inside her reptilian throat, but soon settled back down to allow Gwen to clamber up onto her back and into her saddle.

Apparently, though, some members of the group wanted to keep standing around and talking about it. "This is the Taliver Mountains, kid," she said, leaning down to look at him from atop Freyja, hands busy adjusting her saddle's leg straps. "You expect trouble. Probably bandits -- the Lycians don't usually bother patrolling out this far. But your flashy magic isn't going to be enough to save you if you're more interested in complaining than in paying attention to the job at hand."

She drew the last strap tight with a strong, definitive motion. Rather than staying to give Ray a chance to respond, she gave Freyja's sides a sharp kick, sending the wyvern airborn in a flurry of leathery wings and kicked up dirt.

Gwen never had been good at making friends.