"The path of least resistance," Tristan responded quietly, from his place taking up the rear of the pack where he could keep an eye on their trail and their surroundings more comfortably. He'd come armed for the fight, dressed in his usual armor, and was keenly aware that things were almost certainly going to lead to bloodshed sooner or later. But if they could avoid it, if even for a short while...
"We'd do best to try and avoid the thralls, if we can, or reason with them if we can't. But if they're too far gone, we're better off putting them out of their misery. We'll save more lives by killing the vampires than we will by letting ourselves get captured and fed on because someone gets squeamish at the last moment."
Tristan found his old military training and the mentality that came with it rearing up, here, as he found himself checking and re-checking his weapons. Sure, it was a sword, dagger, and crossbow instead of a sidearm and rifle, but the nervous tension in his gut was the same. This was something he knew. A familiar situation he felt almost too comfortable with. In Eventyr, he had friends. He had people who depended on him. He was skilled. Needed. And he could walk.
If it weren't for his grandmother, he'd told himself over his most recent time back home, he'd probably just step through to Eventyr and never come back...
"What do we know about vampire weaknesses, aside from sunlight?" Tristan asked, trying to divert his thoughts back to the present, and separate fact from common fictions if he could.