Moonspear Is there a spirit that spits upon the exit of signs.

The emotions that rode the air upon her return to the medic's den were both palpable and uncomfortable. There was a tension sung here, its melody woven by a sharp, disharmonius chord. She did her best to ignore it as she carried in the small carcass that she had fetched from a cache. Tension or not, if Kukutux had taken her time to heal him, the silvered Ostrega could not imagine that they would allow him to starve.

Gingerly, she stepped, weaving between the warrior and the medic to slip into the den and set the meal beside him, no care given to if he was dangerous or not. If he was, she would rally up and put him in his place; if not, then she would step away and give the man space once more, looking to the other adults with questions filling her gaze, though she didn't think now was the proper time to voice them.