"Archer, yes, but I'm afraid I'll be traveling another way." In a few minutes, Ingol leads a very dark gray mare with light dappling alongside the carriage; her military tack sporting a large quiver for even more arrows than the side holster on her swordbelt. The inclusion of her warhorse doesn't seem up for discussion. She does say without words, however, her disapproval of the alcohol with a stern, school-marm-esque look at the two men sharing a drink.

"One of us should take point," she says from the saddle, Sir Cleric, I think it prudent that you at least stay ready to use that 'pig sticker' if not ride with it. It needs to be prepared..."