Varstl's gaze is directed towards the figures, and the realization of his noise dawns visibly on his face. Nodding, he sets down his oversized pack slowly and deliberately, then unclasps the crossbow and bolts attached to the side of it. Brushing away leaves and twigs, he ever so gently loads one arrow before stowing the rest into a particularly large pocket in his vest, probably made for that purpose.
"Got it," he whisperers. "Just in case."
"Got it," he whisperers. "Just in case."