Glaffin is beyond cursing now. The caravan's owner is down, and between him and the man stand two lowlifes, one of which had the misfortune to put an arrow in his leg.
To put it simply, the dwarf is mad as all hell as he tugs his horse out of the way by the reins and runs up to his quarry, the closest bandit he can spot. He's flexing his knuckles and snorting like a mad bull, and without saying a word lashes out at the bandit's skull with a backhanded swipe, Cecily's song ringing in his ears.
His intent is clear. All obstacles between him and William are going to be cleared, or he doesn't deserve to be called a cleric of Tharius.