Loud rustling reached Oliver’s ears as he bent into a crouch, pulling back an arrow as he tuned his hearing, blocking everything out to focus on the only sound that mattered; that of feet wading through the magic-formed forest. His rebuke seemed to have done its job, stopping his other selves from starting an argument, and he was glad. Hostility between each other wasn’t going to get them anywhere but killed, and with potential trouble on the way, they needed to quench it before it began.
With silent efficiency he moved through the forest, creeping towards the sound of disturbed underbrush. Hearing Ollie Three speak, he signalled him to keep quiet. Under different circumstances, he might have joined in on the snark, but the fact of the matter was that this was not a time to be joking around – they were in an unfamiliar plane of existence created by a maniacal dwarf with too much time on his hands, and they need to stay sharp if they wanted to get themselves – and their Speedies – out of here alive.
Concealed by the wide trunk of a birch-white sequoia, Oliver listened intently for the newcomers – and the familiar click of safeties being flicked off told him all he needed to know. He signalled his two alternates to find a spot behind some cover on either side of him, forming a triangle within which to trap the gunmen – their nods let him know that he was understood, and he shifted his attention back towards the imminent threat.
And he waited.
And waited.
And waited.
THWICK!