You glance over to Marshall.
“Okay, get ready,” you say.
And with that, you shove the door open with your mudpike. A moment later, a wadded-up bedsheet goes flying through.
It spreads out, catching two of the raiders as it expands.
“Right. Starling, get in the driver’s seat, and get moving fast. I’ll help out Rider. Rivers, you’re in charge while I’m gone.”
“What the hell? Why me?”
You don’t answer. You just rush out into the confused crowd, slamming the door shut behind you.
It looks like there’s eight Dune Wanderers here. Rider’s knocked three of them off their mounts and is moving to either grab or break their crossbows, and two are tangled up in the sheet.
That leaves three. One of them doesn’t have his crossbow ready; instead he seems to be shouting orders at the other two. Both of them are aiming at Rider. They don’t seem to have taken notice of you just yet.
What’s your next move?