Ben's double-checking Gabriel's hooves; the horse has been favoring one since he scrabbled over some loose rock the afternoon before.

Satisfied that the damage appears to be as superficial as it is minimal, he's straightening up --

bang

Neither Gabriel nor Beaut spook at the sudden noise (and Ben's grateful for that piece of blessing); he has the Hand of God cocked in his hand and ready to fire before the report's echo has faded.

Half-crouching, he trots toward the action, hoping like hell there's not some kind of ambush waiting just beyond the lip of the small rise ahead.