Turns out, when you get a more or less ordinary person and hit their joint with an arrow, wonders happen. Both the Chalk-Hooves were effectively disabled, but one of them at least was still able to flee the scene, which he immediately proceeded to do. The remaining four still remained prone on the ground. The ones that were still conscious were in too much pain to even sit up, let alone continue fighting. Best they could do was cursing at the woman in their tongue.

Amidst them laid Malcom, face down, still barely aware of his surroundings after taking a blow to the head. He did seem far less tense, however, sensing that his immediate surroundings became much calmer and quieter. He braced his hands and feet against the ground in a poor effort to stand up, before losing his balance and collapsing onto his side. He figured that the best he could do was to calmly wait for whatever was to come. Perhaps if he were to comply, he could buy himself time to recover…

She lowered her bow as she watched the other figures. She was still somewhat tense, worried that they would attack her in some way. She carefully moved over to the figure as he stumbled, before he fell onto his side. Her gaze softened and she swung her bow onto her back before she carefully walked over to him. 

"Hey there." She said gently. "Are you okay? It looked like you faced a bit of a struggle with the guys here." She hoped that he would be in the mood to talk or in some way, thank her for her assistance. "Are you hurt? Do you need some help?" She gently offered him her hand.