Jesper groans and struggles to his feet. A little woozy, unsurprisingly, stumbling just a little, but he pats his hands over his body, as if making certain everything is where it's supposed to be. Nothing sticking out somewhere. He sighs and looks down at her, touching the scrape on his head.

"I guess I should leave the wraith-ing to the wraith." And neither the sharpshooter or the wraith were the pigeon-catching types.