[ The room's empty. Damn, it seems that she's pretty concerned with her roommates. Sharpe won't mind going out after them if she asks him to, but she'll have to ask first. Right now, he looks apologetically at the floors as he treks mud all over himself. He hasn't seen many maids and such around here, but he doesn't much envy their job right now - and he's a bit sorry, really, for making it more difficult.

So he sheathes his sword, bends over, and slips the boots off. His socks aren't any cleaner, really, but at least there's no mud treks for those. The living room window is intact, and Sharpe draws his sword again as he steps next to her. ]

Better keep with me, ma'am.

[ It's a damn shame when even a home - a temporary one, but still a home - becomes a battlefield. Sharpe hisses out a breath, wishing for proper battlefields, proper lines drawn. Bugger walking corpses. He'd prefer a man in an opposing uniform in any day.

They check the rooms and the windows are intact, but Sharpe isn't particularly reassured. ]

You've got some wood 'round here? [ He looks around him - the only thing that seems choppable is the bed, and he wryly thinks she's probably going to disagree with that course of action. ] We'll have ta board up the windows, if those corpses try ta break through 'em.