Despite Lalin's assurances, Azabeth felt like there was disaster around every corner they turned.
Lalin, Conlan, Lillie, Cyril; so many familiar faces in their ragtag band, and not all of them friendly. The redheaded thief's skin crawled whenever she had to expose her back to those either disinclined to friendliness or the unknown quantities, the ones who might happily stick a knife between her ribs for the Arlessa's ransom. Lalin and Lillie had spoken for her, and Ordhan, assuredly, had keeping her alive in his best interests if he wanted to obey Lelahai's command - but she had thusfar avoided confrontation with Conlan, not wanting to return to the memories of seven years previous, even though she knew that the longer she let that sleeping dragon lie, the greater its wrath would be when it was finally roused. The presence of Simon at her back didn't exactly help, not when the man insisted on reminding her at every turn of the crimes which she had been unfairly accused.
The horsewoman Jill, Az was fairly certain wasn't a threat - everyone else, even the Dalish boy Faer, were unknowns. Az didn't like unknowns.
When Conlan bellowed his warning, Az, already on edge, was not caught completely off her guard; his orders, however, caused her to snort under her breath even as she reluctantly unsheathed her daggers. Not so long ago, she had ended a man's life with those blades. Was killing a darkspawn any different from slaughtering one of Asher's gang members? "And where are the sneakthieves and other roguish types supposed to be standing?" she muttered, spinning one blade in her deft fingers, not exactly a defiance but too ill at ease for true banter. The rancor helped, though, unexpectedly soothing her nerves a touch.