Rogur blinks and turns to the girl. "Keep an eye on the two puddingheads who got themselves knocked out, and make sure they don't try anything stupid." He nudges Zephyr with his toe. "This one especially," he adds with a smirk that manages to be wry, fond and exasperated in equal measure. He kneels by Zephyr, removes the purse, walks out onto the rickety bridge and starts counting the coins. By the time he finishes, there are a dozen groups of stacked silver coins. Enough, he knows, to buy meals and lodgings for their little band for weeks, or to obtain transport further inland. But, I suppose buying the lives of three people is valuable enough. To somebody, anyway. The skin on the back of his neck crawls, knowing that hostile eyes are on him, probably viewing him down the stock of a crossbow. He stands, stretches his back, and waits to assist the others, his eyes constantly scanning the surroundings, picking out likely locations for a sniper.