Sleeping Dragon Howlite

The woman did not understand. From what very little she gathered, the other needed something of the corpse, yet the technicality of the situation was something she did not come close to picking up. Her brow furrowed, eyes transitioning from the woman to the dead one as if the notion that a female like her would need something from a dead body. Yet, with the title came a reckoning, leaving Rebekka to realize what her mistake had been. There where more than one role a wolf could play within the tribe other than the common brute and brawn; yet Rebekka very quickly realized she wasn't exactly sure she wanted to know what the small woman of her practices wanted from a dead body. 

Yet, as Gavriel arrived, her eyes wandered from the mutilated corpse to the man himself. It was true, she had seen little of Gavriel yet it was not of a hesitance against him, per say, but a nature of self independence among wolves that did not speak her language that made her keep her distance from the rest as a whole. It was curious that she had not actively sought out the one person that besides — Heda herself — that could understand her; but assumed the man had better things to do than converse with a orally awkward woman he didn't really know while his children were of more importance than her social life. Either way, she had come to terms with the fact that the forigen Sleeping Dragon wolves would soon learn their ways as a whole, leaving her temporarily in a position of an advantage. With this fact, she was ready to be made known. 

Assuming what the woman wanted, she cast her attention from Gavriel to the corpse, making quick work of screwing off it's head in savage actions involving pointed teeth and circular motions. In little time, she broke away from the bloodied mess, looking from the woman to the prized head as if to ask if this was what she wanted. What a healer wanted with a decapitated head, the Rebekka would not even begin to question but figure, some things were better left unsaid.

“Der,” Rebekka sighed, taking a step back to observe her work. “Chit gon?” The woman asked, unkowning that Portia had in fact already answered the very question in a word that Rebekka had never heard of before.