Hey, she'd be an idiot to give up any natural advantage.

"I don't mind. Was kinda going to suggest it." No offense, but the way she clutches that bag across her body, as if to keep it firmly between herself and anything that might approach them... does not in any way suggest that she's a fighter. Abby's glad to notice the glint of a blade near her hand.

The route after Yara is dark. A whistle echoes to indicate they're going the same way; she reappears, after a minute of silent pursuit. Still looking around for something, still clutching that dead arm tight in front of her. Her skin looks wet, like she's been in the rain. Sweat plasters hair across her forehead, and even in the dim light it's easy to see the scars that mark her face: two, prominent, drawn from the corners of her lips to her earlobes.

"What are you looking for..." Abby mutters, watching her warily; she doesn't think Yara can hear her. "A way out?"