Wheeling Gull Isle no resentment ever evened out a weaker hand

she watches the body the stranger jerk around the moss and frowns, adjusting her nettles slightly. there's little she can do about it -- he has to drink -- but she would like him to remain still. as she told him to. huff! coelacanth's assessment is not as reassuring as she would have hoped, yet grim practicality is something reed can take to, prefering a harsh reality to a false pleasantry. (and luckily unlike her inky leader, her own empathy is untroubled by the necessity of hurting the boy to heal him.)

"mou," she repeats, glad to have a proper name to use. she does not say anything else as aralez moves to lap at his mouth and try to communicate with him -- she's still too young and cold to understand that sort of connection, finding it a little uncomfortable to witness.