The Sentinels revenge is in the creator's hands

well, no shit, velen snarked inside his head at his abacus of a brother. not a bad thing, however — ford was good with numbers. and fighting. and being fuck-all gigantic. still, it wasn't a shit gig to be in ford's literal shadow — once his brother had subdued some poor sap, velen was then free to roast the shit out of said idiot. like trespassers.
"so like sixty-ni —" the dredge began to jest back. however, the clearly witty remainder of that sentence was cut off when something came scampering out of the dead forest, provoking a warning snarl from the wraith. velen might have been cursed with the malady of never shutting his piehole, but when situations needed a firmer hand, he was there to flank ford and rannveig, offering no escape.
staring toward the black sprawl of limbs huddled on the ground, velen kept his attention trained on her, his senses awaiting the move of his cairn brother.