Hideaway Strath Nearly lost

A medic, another. Hemlocke watches the little woman enter the cavern and settle the herbs and seeds down. It was good to have multiple. After all, the ranks held many warriors and required much medical need to keep them tiptop. The warlock turns dark red eyes to her as she speaks to him and he dips his head quietly to her introduction. Hemlocke Grove ... His groveled tones offered though quickly distracted to the arrival of Zsuzsa. To her he dips his muzzle in turn, eyes observing her, moving over the length of her long and lean figure. Thinner, a bit, but otherwise he didnt see any horrible new signs of her previous poisoning. 

Another woman then, just as black as he and Zsuzsa's self, who wore the darkness with a pride. Locke secretly found it quite interesting and, almost relaxing to be among so many who held the night as he. She was much like Zsuzsa, with dark coat and very pale eyes. She was lean and curved the same, but a smaller version. She held a raven, alive and fluttered away when freed. She questioned Zsuzsa, concern in her voice yet the hard look she had given her firstly did not go unnoticed by Locke. He would observe though intervene if needed. That was until...

Dove would distract him, her name but a jest to her actual dangerous and deadly nature which she carried. A skull upon her crown, the same which she often wore, of their former treacherous Second. She makes her own offering of herbs to calm the nerves, as Arlette had done. She is a pristine as ever. Solid white, fluffy and feathery in ways Leigh was too. His sun and sky, if only... He smiles back, but says not. 

It was the baratones of a male which twisted his ears and his body muzzle lifts and to the side to the scarred mug of Derg. Then a whine of his Harbinger and he is forced to draw away his desire for Dove and worry of Zsuzsa for the time being and onto her. A man whom held often his emotions in, he is drawn like moth to flame to the distress of others. He comes, slithering to the much larger woman's side, to fuse his black fur into her white. Often did he not touch, or at least not make the first move to do so, but it was she, Nyra, that he had fully opened up about his past to savor Donovan himself and she had done the same for him. She had been the first friend he had made here. 

Now though, as he stood so near her, he looks out to the storm as she does, liquid gold and liquid blood eyes together. Where was their leader? Where was dear Leigh?