"My bow is--was--one of the finest caliber." They might be working under different definitions here. "It was a splendid weapon, and I had arrows tipped in poisons of my own design. And I had my friends with me."

It is the singular moment where her tight control slips, and she looks for a moment quite nearly grief stricken. "But they are gone from me now." Forever, maybe, whether or not she gets home.

Then she catches herself, and her face is once again politely calm. Like the moment never happened. "Safe to say, I had been able to handle myself." She'll handle herself here, too. She has no choice.