In the northernmost reaches of the Anderfels, origin of the invasion, a mountainous cradle birthing forth the first Blight and the darkspawn who heralded it, they did not teach to only wound their target. Darkspawn were tenacious, vicious things, and in the very heart of that darkness, there was only one way to succeed in survival. The carven witch-bow hummed and sang, the string taut gossamer under Hilda's sure and strong fingers; down the hurlock went, its back and limbs peppered with arrows, while Ser Talfryn braved the shriek, driving the clever beast into the water. Shrieks, dangerous as they were, were not made for a fight upon sand and water - a similar tactic existed in the north, with snow and ash, and Hilda would have time better to appreciate and respect Talfryn's strategic mind when she had the luxury of a moment to breathe.
For all she was a skald, the economy of sound with which Talfryn signalled her was not lost upon her; he waved her on, and she padded cautiously towards the fallen hurlock, an arrow nocked and ready to pin the dastardly creature to the ground through the neck, should the extent of its injuries prove to be merely a ruse. It did not stir, and she braved a test with the arrow she held, removing it from the bowstring to use the spaded head to prod with, attempting to elicit some sort of reaction, proof of or against the hurlock's survival. Still, silence, and only after careful thought did the skald ease into a crouch, her mouth a grim white line, eyes stark in her night-pale face. The darkness leached all colour from the Sonnenstrahl - all but that of her golden hair, even now a beacon in the night.
Talfryn approached as Hilda was pulling arrows from the hurlock's back, discarding some as ruined and taking others up with almost exaggerated care; a few, those with white fletching, she left where they had pierced the beast's thick hide, as a marker in the shadows where the hurlock had fallen for when they needs must retrieve this body. It would poison the lake entire, if left to rot where it was. The tips of what arrows were reusable were black with the thing's poisonous blood, what small drips of the stuff there were carefully shaken back onto the body, and though her attention to where those venomous tips were at all times seemed overcautious, one did not live in the Anderfels without being aware at all times the vitriolic properties of darkspawn blood. Still. Arrows were arrows, and Hilda would not be found in want of ammunition if she could avoid it.
The skald stood and turned in one smooth motion, three blackened arrows held in one hand by their fletchings, and her face softened as she saw Vienne's body. Traitor or not, Vienne had been a woman, and a Warden. That Talfryn did not leave her body where it had fallen rose his standings yet further in the skald's eyes, and made her think briefly of another weary and honorably knight, older, darker of colouring and eye.... - no. She could not allow her thoughts to wander, not here and now. She shook her head slowly at Talfryn's questioning expression, then gestured with her bow to the central square. Did they rejoin that battle, Talfryn with his shield and Hilda with her bow? Or did the knight have another plan in mind?