Sun rising over the water, she's got to move. Three Fallen down. That means find a new sniper nest before her enemy comes looking. They're on the prowl, the ragged ends of Devils only barely integrated into Dusk. There's an old factory with outflow pipes leading to a drying riverbed; she doesn't know what it used to make, but it's closer to a Human settlement than she likes. A potential enemy stronghold. The Fallen can't have it. But they're trying, and they're backed up by the canniest Vandal with a wire rifle she's ever faced. Rifle goes on her back, under the cloak, and she climbs down out of the tree that once served her so well. She wades through the water, tacking towards the other shore. A shot whines overhead, the snap and fade of an Arc bolt. A second shot tears a line through her shoulder. She throws herself forward, tucked low against the riverbed, and crawls forward. The ridge keeps her out of likely enemy sightlines. There's a boulder that's got a good look to it. She slithers behind it into concealing shadow. Front's all mud and blood now, but she'll deal with that later. Her enemy's got a cloaking device. Doesn't always use it. The power draw's a giveaway if you have the right equipment, which she doesn't. She keeps her eyes open for any rustling, any faint blurring of background. It's the sun's glint that gives him away in the end, winking against the scope on his wire rifle. From deep in shadow, she takes the shot. It's her planet. They can't have it.