He knelt down in what sparse grasses covered the hill, before finally laying his whole body spread eagle in the undergrowth. He could still hear the leathery beat of wings, the foreign babble (or what would've been, had his father not have tutored him early on in the tongues of their enemies) and the archer. Now was the time to empty his mind, to become dead to the world, that it might pass him by. He took a deep breath, and held it... focusing. The world went into grayscale through his eyes, once vibrant colors gradually giving way to dull, listless hues. His pulse slowed to a crawl in his chest, yet remained powerful with every pump.
This was the stillness of death. This was the technique of those snipers who so proudly carried the Bayard name.
He knew naught how long he lay there, entranced, dead to the world. Minutes, hours, days? It seemed like eternity one way or another. But eventually, those foes searching for him seemed convince they'd lost the trail, and as if Calo had vanished into thin air and been forgotten, one by one they wandered off to harass the rest of the squadron.
Like a man nearly drowned, he gasped for breath, bolting upright as he grabbed his bow, and not but seconds later he was bounding down the hill. This... still was not optimal in the least bit, but at least this way he was no longer pinned down, could provide them the fire support they needed to kill the damn wingmen. But there was yet something else to attend to, before that.
"These are the last of my supplies. I suggest you stay up this time, get into cover once you can move again," Just as last time, he unstoppered the Vulnerary and applied it to the Nun's wounds
"else we may well both be adding to the casualties for this mission."Vuln Evra... again.