"Thank you so much, friend," says the great barbarian to Tenebrynn. While the pick feels solid and good in his hands, Somac can't help but feel a bit unmanned at having to rely on another's weapon. As he considers the pick, an idea strikes him. The goblins at the moathouse must have fought these sahuagin before, else why would they have such a weapon?
Following the tracks, he is glad to have the priest around to lead them. "Perhaps these horses were carrying Irene and Jezibel," he volunteers. "Maybe they rode upstream in an effort to hide their tracks."
At the stream he stops to splash the cool water onto his face.