"Sure…"
The huntsman approaches you, discarding his longbow to the side and unsheathing a dagger. He takes the body in front of you and moves it out of the way.
He then kneels down next to you and cuts through your bonds. "Good God, my friend, yer wrists look like shite." He sheathes the dagger once again.
"They feel like shite," you reply.
You fall forward onto your hands and knees. After a moment of struggle, you force yourself back to your feet. You stumble backward, off-balance, but Velinor grips your shoulder and keeps you steady. "Easy, friend. Take it slow."
A voice outside the tent suddenly calls out, "Hey! Hey, Zdik! You in 'ere?"
Velinor curses and releases your shoulder. You stumble and take hold of the pole you were bonded to earlier. He reaches to the quiver at his hip and pulls out an arrow, holding it like a dagger.
Another traitor pushes his way through the tent entrance. His eyes widen with shock. Before he can react, Velinor wraps an arm around the soldier's shoulder and jams the arrow into his gut. He presses down on his shoulders and up on the arrow, driving it deeper and deeper.
The man doubles over and collapses, hands clutching at the wound. Velinor leans down and draws the man's own sword from his scabbard.
He passes the blade to you. "Come on! We's gotta go!"
You glance down at the mortally injured soldier.
Velinor says, "Either you's finish 'im, or I will."