Galli shrinks back against Thistle's side and the horses both snort and stamp as the body heaves and what looks like red organs emerge from under it. Lashan's put the witchfire globe into a lantern from her saddlebags. She holds it up as she limps stiff-legged closer. The bright moonlike light shows the rain just starting to loosen the thick layer of mud and gore liberally coating Guts.

"Hunh. Do you always end up under your kills?" she asks, though there's a certain less-arch quality to her voice too. Lashan doesn't want to sound too impressed or relieved. "Or is that just battlefields and big animals? Never mind. Here, can you grab a lead and let a horse pull you out? I'd need a lever to lift this poor brute."

Safflower has returned also and also doesn't like the smell of blood and ozone, snorting and laying her ears back. Not protesting as Lashan goes to pull rope from her saddlebags, the mare lowers her head to sniff her rider, what's exposed of him, with careful distaste. Rain drips off her big muzzle.

The mare seems willing enough. Assuming Guts will take the help even if he grumbles about it, Lashan ties rope to her saddle and makes a loop at the other end before lowering it to him. If she gets down on the ground at this point, getting her off it again will be complicated.