Sleeping Dragon consulting the self

Sangilak remains silent and stalwart. The other is able to lift themselves, throw themselves downward, but sickness spews from her. It looks dismal; Sangilak only wonders why it is they still breathe. It was cruel of Thuringwethil, but then, Sangilak does not much care for niceties of it. The other would die sooner or later. None of this boded well for the silver woman, who Sangilak looked at as she would any creature that was dead or dying. She had not known the wolf very well, but remembered the kindness shown to the lanky stranger. There was no such thing as karma; good deeds were rarely ever repaid by the savage hand of death, who cared nothing for any thing, not even those that aided in its rising number.

Thuringwethil was regarded with a cool look when she was spoken to again. Sangilak wonders what it is the other will do, but does not much care, either. As far as Sangilak knew, Lucani was all but dead; discounted within the ranks. Sangilak adjusts her posture only minutely as she turns to depart, the movement not at all personal or cold, simply matter-of-fact. Sangilak simply did not see the other surviving this. And in minutes, she was gone.