Dal Shabet

Zelig wrinkled his nose. "Poor as church mice. Though... only one wound each... I didn't even notice how he managed to get it," he looked around. "And it's not worth revealing to potential enemy scouts, who might be observing the port, the number of our losses. I don't think he would like that, but fortunately, his opinion no longer matters. Give me some space, please." Amos pulled out the watchman's sword from his cold hands, his knives, and two daggers from his pouch, then glanced at Amalia, who had died unsuccessfully and awkwardly at the beginning of the skirmish, and took out a third. Well, and he herded the guys inside.