Under the open shelter on the top of the outpost's roof, Henry stands with his unstrung bow and a quiver of heavy bodkin arrows at his hip, keeping watch. He turns his head at Drake's approach, his eyebrows raising in mild surprise at the state of the man. He assumes the white in Drake's hair is the result of stress from a difficult wound or bout of illness, since Drake also appears partly wasted. He's seen much worse, though, and Drake's demeanour is cheerful.

"So you return."

Henry dips his head in greeting and beckons Drake over.

"Know you how to shoot?"

Bow or gun, it does not particularly matter.