Her armour felt so light. The sword on her back, a mere feather. She was beyond excited. She - Fira-Nar the argonian with no head for planning - had come up with an idea and a whole group was going to execute it. It was a momentous occasion for the young templar. Nothing could ruin her mood today. Nothing.
"Your soul longs for battle."
The statement came from over her right shoulder, the voice atonal and impossible to read. The scholar. She must have noticed her excitement and made an assumption about the source.
"No! Well, I mean I guess sometimes. Sorta. But not right now. In the way...that...you're...meaning."
The Norn had fallen back, nose buried in a book, seemingly uninterested in her reply. That habit of hers was so infuriating. She'd expect Fira to be constantly paying attention when she decided to actually speak and then when Fira spoke, she'd stop listening before the argonian could finish. If she were any other person, Fira would take this is a direct insult and challenge her to a duel to settle the matter. Somehow, the weird one managed to make every interaction seem incredibly impersonal.
It really wasn't fair.
What really wasn't fair was that now she was thinking about the crazy "Norn" instead of her plan! This was her moment and she needed to be present. She caught up with Tempest and Cullen, placing herself within earshot of most of the entourage.
"So, the camp has an entrance from the north and from the west. We should probably split up and attack from both fronts. Perhaps set up an ambush on the north and drive them toward it."
Fira was certain that a heads-on attack would be the only way to relieve the camp of its denizens and was equally determined to ensure that all her people made it out alive.