The pounding of hoofbeats announces Martel (and Kalten, whose hooves they are) before he rounds the corner, bloody and irritated and driving ahead of him a gaggle of the diseased primates that shriek their fury as they endeavour to swarm out of the warhorse's path; the sound of their bones cracking and blood splattering isn't significantly more pleasant. He'd come down this way on the assumption (false, apparently, and what sort of fool-) that there'd be no one out on this street, particularly not so close to the Inn.

The word he utters at this point is likely unfamiliar, but the tone of it is unmistakable as Martel alters his course to lean sideways and reach out to Six - his intent is fairly clear, and if she's cooperative, he'll haul her up behind him on the horse. "You shouldn't be out here," he says, half an eye on the birds and trying to gauge his chances of being able to pull this off quickly enough to avoid engaging them.

Not that he doubts his own brilliance or prowess, of course, but three things at once is a little much when they're monkeys, birds, and someone else's little lost lamb.