"Y'all might want to stand back a pace or three," he says, his texan drawl calm as he draws his bow. Moving quickly, the wind whipping at his coat arrows flash out at the great mechanical beasts that had persued us this far. The arrows, for the most part, bounce harmlessly off the armored sides of the Cranes or the giant mechanical Spiders. Still, he shoots more, drawing their attention to the ridge on which he'll make his stand. Calling on the magic that courses through his bow he aims skywards, waiting for the last of the beasts to come close enough. Then, moments before the thundering heard of mechanical monsters reaches him, he lets loose a single arrow, quickly lost in the glare of the mid day sun. Pulling down the brim of his hat, shielding his eyes from the harsh light above, he waits calmly for a moment.... Then hundreds of arrows rain down from the sky, bruning with a fire hot enough to have been pulled directly from the blazing texas sun. Where the arrows strike mechanical beasts, oil burns and metal melts under the intense heat. He doesn't move, waiting patiently for the rain of arrows to end. When it does, he looks out over the wreckage of a score or more shattered hulks. And he smiles at us. "Told y'all that ya'd want to stand back a pace."