Vassyl frowned some, lacking any positive spin or quirky remark to lift the mood. The Imperials’ plight was assuredly dire. The dual conflicts of injury and a need for withdrawal did not sit well with the Captain. They needed to get moving eventually. Doren, for his part, was in no condition to walk anywhere. Still, he had his arms: so long as he remained conscious, his marksman’s aim was sure to dispel any unwanted hostiles. Already, Vassyl had kept a wary eye on the horizon, in search of potential enemies, as well as further materials he might bend to his will. If his colleague maintained a good range of motion, Doren had half a mind to construct some sort of sled. Unfortunately, such a plan hinged on the extent of her own wounds. “How are your injuries-”, Vassyl whispered once more, “Miss Malkova? Is anything broken?”.
In theory, Pilot Etro would have little difficulty navigating his surroundings and reaching a better vantage point. However, as he began to circle round his wretched foes, an untraceable tectonic hand conspired against him. The gaseous underside of the marshes, at that very moment, started to stir up. Small ripples shimmered out along the sands, causing ferns and debris to shift and shudder. Then, almost without warning, air pockets, about a meter in size, erupted up and out of the earth, spewing myriad particulates into the air. Immediately, the foremost Xexto took quick notice, and spun his rifle around- only to face the empty gap in the mists where Jom once stood. Another detonation shook the ground at the scout’s rear, exposing his back to the still-hidden Imperial. Surely, he would be unable to turn in time, if one struck out at just the right time...