Astrid’s smile broadens — having encountered someone similarly opportunistic as her, who won’t shy away from something slippery — and says, “Deal,” resisting the urge to high-five him.

She’s not always this vindictive. But people are meant to help each other, and these thieves fucked over that social contract first, so…

So then it’s the pair of them working in tandem: pacing over to the last bandit, Astrid nudging him with a boot, his noises quieting to muted tears as they loom over him. Lazar pinning him in place while she makes quick work of the knots around his wrists. Not as well as someone used to the sea and tying things in place on a ship, but good enough, considering the supplies and camping equipment she was taught to rope together in the high mountains.

She runs an absentminded thumb over her bruised lip, considering her words. She waits until Lazar’s started to hoist the man over the edge.

“Look, we’ll let you go,” he gives a rising wail, oh, she didn’t mean like that, “safely, back on the ground, if you just tell us where the rest of your stash is. We’ve got some very worried merchants to answer to. You’ll even get to keep your other eye, which is more than we could say if we just drop you here, which would be quicker and easier and honestly just a better end to our day, all things considered—”