Glaffin gestures to where he's spotted the glint over a few hills, surprised at himself that he could have picked it up. He doesn't speak to his fellows, not wanting to give their position away should an errant breeze carry his words farther than intended.

There's not much more he can do though, besides wait for the bandits to get overconfident and attack. Despite his heritage, he's woefully under-prepared to be a fighter, and has resigned himself to support the others as best as he can, and maybe whack a few of the louts over the head with his old rusty cudgel if they come too close.