In the midst of the dimming yet unexpectedly bloody battle, Alec finally manages to clear his head and realizes that the field looks a lot less organized and more screamy than he remembers it. Taking an arrow to the lung can do that. The two small favors he can count are that his horse has been astonishingly calm about the whole matter, rather than running for its life and leaving him exposed, and the bandits seem to be worse off than his team. Maybe not much
worse, he can't help but think after a glance around, particularly at Cecily. But even without her song, the echos throb between his ears (actually, that could be the concussion he sustained while falling from his saddle).
He peeks under his horse's neck to see both of the crossbowmen who put him on the ground at the onset of the fight. A sensible approach might be to stay where he is and let someone else take care of that problem, ideally someone who can't still taste iron when they breathe. On the other hand, that list is looking increasingly small. Not to mention that the bandits have already proven their skill at range, so he probably isn't much safer here than he is right in front of them.
His skin looks ashen as he slips around his horse, jumps over the body of the man Cecily mostly-killed moments before, and makes a mad dash north. Mad
in this case looks a lot like drunken weaving, given the way his skull pulses and his chest swirls with fire. Nevertheless, Alec leads with his short sword and tries to put some blood on it.