"Of course not," she retorted to Desi's comment about hexes, letting him deal with the messy business of the vials. Idle, she tapped the Templar's chin upward with her toe and looked down her nose at his slack face, appraising, until Desi spoke again. The young man's excuses brought no change to her expression of cool apathy.
"Of course they do. Templars are not infallible, they are men. They can be overwhelmed." She gestured disinterestedly to Desi's staff, a sardonic note creeping into her tone. "You just hit this one very hard with a stick, and we find ourselves victorious. Evidence suggests that the Order is perhaps not the model of strength and efficiency you have been lead to believe."
Disinterested in Desi's passion for the subject, she tucked her little knife into her messy updo and looked down, brushing dirt from the front of her skirts. "If were were to drag him up the ridge, his body would be unrecognizable within the month. No need even to remove his armor. Predators and bandits have no use for it."
"Need I mention that it is my face this man will remember now, not yours? Perhaps you would not be so soft-hearted if you knew this man were to wake and return to his brethren with descriptions of you upon his lips." She put her hands on her hips and pressed her own lips together impatiently. "But- fine. If you must pity this man, who would no doubt cut you down where you stand without hesitation, then fetch the rope. We must truss him securely before he wakes, or he may follow."