Hare and Back Again

Dangeon, Angus, Amos, Stubb, Scaith, Rayuwil, Rentha

Location: Foxglove Hollow

Dangeon is coming too, slowly and groggily, laid on the ground looking up at the night sky; she blinks her right eye and cracks it open a little way, unsure about waking up. "I ache, I d'nno where I am and I'm thirsty..." She croaks skyward. "What did I drink? Is there more?"

A scaly head pokes from some obscure chasm in the forest floor, flicking a weary glance over the clearing. "Dangles?" he croaks, his good arm scrambling for a grip on the soggy earth. Angus slips somewhat, and begins to sink back into the hole. "We're here, love. Yer safe now."

Amos has already removed himself from the hole and where he had been squishing the others and now is crowding around the hare as he pushes a flask in her paw, "Here ya go luv, this it'll help, " He looks around, grumbling, "Where that bloody horse feller of yours go to now?"

Stubb's head rises warily above the rim of the ditch, his hair much touseled and his ears apparently rearranged by some subterranean encounter with a dragon's foot. With a groan, he hoists his lower body free of the earthen maw and crawls four-legged to a snowless spot nearby where the dislodged soil from Angus' furious excavation lies piled. He reclines, still moaning softly, and places a paw over the reawakened wound at his midriff.

Dangeon blinks. Safe? Oh... Oh right, that whole fox thing. "... Hooray." She manages a smile and a wince. "...I'm honestly grateful, thankyou, but I don't think I'm ready to get up yet, so jumping for joy is out, wot. 's everyone else a'right? Where is Maney?" She makes a grabby paw for the offered flask, waiting until she's sure she has a grip on it, before bringing it toward her lips.

Scaith remains within the ruptured earth, savoring sweet reprieve from the flattening mash-up while everyone else crawls out. The world spins in a boozy stupor, and the marten reels while retrieving her weaponry; once sheathed, she pulls herself into a sitting position against a wall of the hole. "A real Wild Bunch, these'uns..." she mumbles to herself, pulling out her own flask and drinking in unlit solitude. She seems to have lost her reason for diving into the hole in the first place, but is content to remain.

Angus continues to grapple with the slimy edge of the hole. He grunts as Stubb scrambles over him, secured by a tenacious grip on the exposed root of a tree. After much impotent kicking of feet in the abyss below, the lizard manages to lodge a hind claw in the earthen shaft of the tunnel, and levers himself upward. Tilting his head, Angus notes the curious equine absence. "Perhaps he went fer vittles," he offers, tail wriggling in the cavern below.

Amos plops down next to the hare, grunting, "Can't say I know, and I'd love nothing more to get warm and rest ourselves after all this adventure, " He grins, raising a paw to pat the hare, "Nice to have you back though." He shifts his glaze to the others, giving a slight wave and smirking at Stubb.

Stubb squints through the dark at Amos. "Ow can you fink a wavin' a' me, ca', when no' a hour ago your rump landed square in me face?!" He grunts and leans his head back to gather a modicum of strength from closed eyes.

Rayuwil dashes into the scene with a few squirrels; Rodigero is there and two others. The squirrelking stops short of the scene, followed by the lieutenant and his band. "Rod... th... you reported that they were all...! Take me out of here, you have no..." He whispers, "No idea what they could do to us!" Suddenly, the two others come forward and grab the king by his arms, dragging him forward.

"Wot is this stuff?" The hare asks, frowning at the flask then trying to sit a little more upright. "Probably... Maney does like to make sure he's useful." She wrinkles her nose, probably wishing the horse had stayed. "Did anyone bring m' weapon?" The news of the cat's rump going into Stubb's face elicits a raised brow and a curious slow look from the hare between weasel and cat. "..wot?"

"Warrm," is the dragon's quixotic rumble. "Right right, kitteh. There's gotta be some sorta' inn around here, aye? What with all the wayfarin' locals." He remains lodged at the brink of the hole, but squints, hoping for the invitation of a distant lantern. "Simmer down, mate." The lizard flits his blue tongue at the weasel. "What transpired in that hole stays in th' hole, aye?" he grimly adds, chin dipping to his shoulder.

Rodigero chuckles, "'ve had enough o' you, king Nidlorf. Couldn't let this pass me by - not with our cover blown and the, uh... generous offer, heh. Besides, y'were always abusive to me. Clarino agrees, by the way, but 'e's much too afeared of ya to do this. Take him to their gatherin' there, past the thicket... I'll go back to the perimeter, break it up - that fox is /gone/, there's no use for't."

Scaith musters the ambition to stand upright, wobbly but sure-footed; the ruckus above lures her attention. "Aye, the hole is wharr I shall stay, then; but is my chastity worth not a breakfast in the cheapest inn?" she bellows from below, peering toward moonlight but unable to reach the hole's opening. "Angus, darling, would you?" she reaches a paw upward to await aid.

Amos leans close to the hare to whisper, and shakes his head at the question before turning back to look at the weasel with a grin, "Well thanks for breaking my fall boss, can't say I know what you lot were doing in that hole but is as the lizard says, " He eyes the sight of Angus and catching sound of the marten, "Ah, she's still alive too eh!"

Stubb rocks his head back and forth, shaking his head without opening his eyes. "Can' believe i'. Oi can' bloody believe tha' damn fox gave us tha slip again. Oi 'ave 'alf a moind ta ralieve you a your tail, lizard."

Rayuwil and the two rather strong guards throw Nidlorf at the party's mercy, and briefly announce, "'Ere's our tyrant for ya, do what you will... also servin' notice that we're movin' out, if you won't be needin' us." They both depart, leaving the king dusting himself off and looking up at the group.

Angus, head cocked to gaze past his shoulder, speaks to the disembodied voice below: "Oh, love--I almost fergot about ye'." As his hind claws remain firmly sunk in the semi-frozen dirt conduit, he consents. "Grab hold an' partake of the lizardly ladder, lass--ole' Stubbster made good work of it. I got hold o' this root, and ain't goin' nowhere soon." His tail lashes lamely at the marten, encouraging her ascent. "Ye' spy a hare blade down there? Grab it--s'our dear Dangle's."

Stubb grimaces, mumbling. "An' wha's all that cha'ta? More a dem screeching flufftail's pokin' abou' tha woods, boi tha sound of i'." He cracks an eyelid. "Oh, 'ell. I's you den, is i'?"

Dangeon shrugs and swigs the flask again; even if she wasn't sure about the contents, she seems happy to drink it now. She peers toward the hole and looks askance to the cat. ".. Boss-cat, why'd.. Who...? Oh! Yes please, if it's there... Did one of ya bring it? I lost it back in the city I think... Bally rats an' the like..."

Amos smiles at the hare, "Oh, I guess you can say that she's sort of part of the group now and sort of ran into her while rescuing and escaping and kill rats as well, " He turns to look past the hare over at the weasel and lizard, "So what is the plan boss, he's still got your thing'a'magiger right?"

Angus disengages from Scaith to consider the plight of the squirrel king. "Who's he, mate?" he asks his weasel chum, forehead wrinkled in irritation. With a slow nod, his attention switches to the hare. "Er--oh. By th' way, it's good to see yer sweet face again, love," he tells Dangeon. The smile he affords her is completely genuine. "If it ain't yer blade she finds, there are plenty of others; ole' Abnar of the dog-breathed had all shape and kind of warlike implement stashed down there."

Scaith seeks the dark floor and finds a blade; whether it is the hare's or not is unkonwn to her. She grabs hold of the lizard limb, clambering up his backside but stalling once her head is near his. "So I take i' no'un else is int'rested in chasin' that hag-seed ol' fox?" she asks, gribbing onto cold-blooded creature's brawn. She peers at the squirrels once they are in view.

"Yes, it's me. Sorell, of course. And very glad to see that my efforts have saved your friend Dangeon. I trust then the fox is kill'd?" He peeks around the others and sees the hole in the ground, bringing his palm up to his forehead and wiping sweat off the side of his furry temple, in relief.

".. Alright, bu' does she have a name?" She asks the cat, before raising what she now considers to be her flask to Scaith as she emerges via lizard. The lizard's smile is returned in kind, but with mock puzzlement. "Sweet face? Ya must have rescued the wrong hare. It's good t' see you too, Dragon." Her eyes wander to the hole at the mention of the weapon stash. "I'd like t' do more than chase 'im... but.. eh."

Stubb rises to his paws. It's clear that now is not the time for a nap. "Could be, Amos. I' were too dark down dere to make out one fing from the uvver. Oi'll check again la'er, oi expec'." He stalks over to the humbled king. "Oi knew you was loying to tha' ol' lady." He tsks. "Nidlorf." He compasses Nidlorf at a distance of a few feet.

Angus grunts as the marten scales his squamous posterior. When Scaith arrives at his shoulders, he pushes his head against hers and consoles, "In good time, love." He fights the urge to cringe as mustelid claws penetrate his ratty clothes. "What did th' scuzzy mongrel do to ruffle yer fine feathers, anyhow?" he asks, and, with a short burst of strength, hauls both of them to the surface. "Rrf--oi, Stubb. What say ye' we get a camp together? Regroup and go out fer the dog."

Rentha has been wandering in the woods, a fair way off. Now he approaches the clearing cautiously, wondering what is afoot, given the noises.

Rayuwil keeps his eyes on Stubb the entire time, shifting on his feet with the circling of the weasel. "N... Ni... no, I don't... they are lies! Wha... the fox told you this? Lying, no doubt of it. He has me mistaken, perhaps. And those... those squirrels, they are hateful and call me 'tyrant'... it is a joke." He starts chuckling, but is clearly nervous. He looks at Angus, "Yes, regroup... the fox."

Rentha pulls his cloak tigher still, stepping quietly into the clearing where the darkest shadow falls.

Amos watches the weasel and lizard as he fumbles with the name, "Scaty Scaite, or sumthing... Scaith!" He smiles, seeming pleased that he's remembered, "No, am not too eager to go chasing after that fox tonight, but I reckon things aren't done yet and where is that bloody horse?"

"He'll be here when he needs to be. Carryin' stuff we hadn't thought of." The hare replies to the cat, disappointed in the lack of horse, but faithful of why he might be missing. Her ears twitch toward the weasel and squirrel confrontation nearby. "More trouble?"

Scaith steps upon Angus's shoulders none too lightly as she flops onto the forest floor, arm instinctively reaching out for the flask offered by Dangeon before displaying the sword to the hare. "S'yours?" she asks, taking another swig and handing both the drink and blade over. Looking to the cat, a sudden wave of recognition crosses her face. "Amos, m'fine feline!" she hiccups.

Stubb snaps his fingers to wrest the squirrel's attention back from its wanderings. "Don' look at /him/, ma'e. Oi'm a fair whit less loikely dan 'e is ta wring yore neck if oi ge' tha chance. Best you be straight wif us, an we won' make flufftail stew for dinner."

Angus's parched lips purse in a smirk as his cohorts speak of the phantom horse. He gathers himself up in the wake of the marten, stumbling to plop beside his crew. Clearly interested more so in the flask than the spurned king, he clips an half-hearted, "Stew does sound mighty delicious right now, mate," to Stubb.

Angus flits his tongue. "Not sure if this be the right time t'mention it, but I smell somethin' distinctly foxish around here. And it's alarmingly fresh." This is said beneath his breath, all though casual, so as not to pique the notice of a potential vulpine intruder.

Rentha steps toward the group, curious to see what all the clamor is about. It is really a motley group.

Amos mutters under his breath but moves to stand, "Scaith, " Amos smirks, looking over the marten, "You don't seem worse for wear, want'cha to meet a friend of mine, " He motions towards the hare, "This here is my good for nutin' subordinate and comrade Dangeon, " He grins.

Rayuwil swallows, looking at Stubb, "This... huh, this is nonsense! Nothing of a noble have I shown, but insofar as diligence and servitude are concerned I have not been lacking. You would criticize your friend's rescuer? An outrage! Will you kill me then, for saving her?"

Amos' flask is settled on the ground once handed back to the hare. Something really must be wrong; she's sharing it. Or maybe that's because it wasn't actually hers to start with. "Scaith." The hare repeats, making a note- see how long it takes for her to make up a nickname now. "Hm. Er. It'll do." Dangeon says of the sword; it's not hers, but it's a little less ratty and more or less the same shape. "Aye. I followed him around for the drink; he's good at buying rounds."

Stubb nearly spits. "Rescuer! Rescuer!! Your lo' managed ta slink off a' a ravver pre'ty toime for a bunch a heroes! Your archers shot us from above, nearly killed moi frien'!" He jabs an angry finger back toward Amos. "Fa' lot a rescuers you are!" He walks in furious paces back and forth now, cutting a semicircle in front of the king.

Rentha walks into the circle to get a good look, close enough to see and be seen. For good measure, he lifts his hood, being careful not to disloadge the rest of the cloak. No point in garnering unwanted violence or aggression. He's not in any position or mood for battle, not that they know that.

Rayuwil decides now is not the time to continue his guilt-spree... the king puts his paws together, "We are... not accustomed to fighting, you understand. As for the arrows, I assure you that any fired upon your innocent party were intended to find their mark in the fox - I promised only to take you to him. I would not sacrifice my friends in the trees lightly." He looks around, gauging the temperament of the others.

Angus finally acknowledges the wrath of the weasel, and, with a perturbed sputter, rises to dutifully stand beside his pal. The dragon casts a dark scowl down to Rayuwil, broken only by frenetic Stubb's pacing. "So what's all this, mate?" he questions. "The acorn militia don't want its marshall no more?" He strokes at the furred brim of his coat, relieving it of burs and knots. Then his chin lifts, and there is a lop-sided vision of teeth. "I thought so--see? I told ye'," he hollers, jutting an accusatory finger at the fox. "Stinky curs."

Rentha yelps softly, "I must correct your foul-mouthed language, lizard." The word rolls uneasily and awkardly off his tongue, as one that has not been used much, if any. "I do pride myself on a lack of stench, and I do not favor 'cur' as an appropriate description of myself."

Amos looks over to the others as things get a bit more spirited, he mumbles to Dangeon, "Was nutin', " Thinking she might want an explaination seeing as they haven't exactly exchanged stories just yet. He also moves towards the weasel, looking somewhat uncertain for a moment at his mate Angus before seeming to follow, "Aye, " He blinks, wondering exactly where Rentha came from, "Stay close Dangeon."

Frenetic Stubb looks sharply at the fox. "Anuvver one a your disguises, is i'?" He struggles to see Rentha through the darkness. "Who is i' dis toime? Tha wayward trav'la? Tha beggar-fox? Tha conveniently-toimed healer?" He spits phlegm in the snow. "Bes' you stand back, fox, or go make yourse'f useful boi makin' us a foire." Stubb's bloodshot eyes turn back to Rayuwil. "You. Come wif me. You too, Angus."

Angus balks at the brashness of the new fox. "Come again, mate? It's a bit hard t' heard yew over all th' stank." He brushes it off, however, and returns his focus to the weasel and king. "This is th' bloody poof who was shootin' at us?" The lizard positions himself behind Rayuwil, as a rather unkindly grip is aimed at the squirrel's shoulder. "Aye, lord of unluck--I be thinkin' we got some things to hash out."

"Don't s'pose a smelly cur /would/ think 'e did stink," Scaith pipes in, debauched temper flaring at the musk of another fox. "Why, I'd do away wif th'lot of yah if I could jus' find ye all..." She spits in the snow, as well, before heaving herself up. "And may I say: 'oo cares 'oo 'e is this time, Master Weasel? They're a rotten ol' bunch, them foxes. Oi, tha' one 'oo got away-- 'e has left me wif two offenses in jus' one night alone! Nasty ol' bunion of a bastard..."

Stubb grunts his agreement with Scaith's aspersions.

Rayuwil can only do what the bunch of bullies wants him to do! The squirrel, indignant, at first resists. "Follow y... for thinking me a king you do a lot of ordering yourself!" He says nothing more and keeps his head low, following in front of the lizard, looking back at the scaley claw on his robed shoulder. The hot breath of the animal almost makes him wretch, as he eagerly keeps up with the less offensive bully.

Rentha looks a bit confused, though he wipes the look off his face quickly, unsure of what the other beasts are referring to. It would not do to look too lost. "I think, perhaps, you have me confused with another.", he remarks uneasily, "I do not deal in disguises and this is place is new to me in any case. If perhaps you refer to another of my kind, I cannot speak for their actions." This place smells of dislike and uneasiness toward him.

Dangeon stays sat where she is as Amos stands and waves her paw dismissively. "I'll be fine. I need to shake this headache an' I got a blade again. Go... Do whatever it is y' lot want to do with the flufftail... who shot at you? Shoot 'im back or somethin', Catboss." The hare eyes the new fox and shakes her head. He does seem different to the other so she's not too concerned, but keeps her paw near the new sword just in case.

Rentha turns to look at the weasel, "Then it is no wonder a fox should dislike a good many, if they are all treated so poorly. I was only curious what the all the ruckus was about, and I should say I have grown a bit stupid to be wandering about inquiring..."

"Ye' ain't no king of mine," Angus notes with a brutish shove. "Hardly look like a king to nobody, right now, mate," the behemoth continues to disparage, as he ushers the critter along. He swivels his head to scrutinize Rentha. "Probably can't do much harm, that one. Too bungling t' be in line with th' wraith chump." After this he ignores the fox, but has nearly pushed Rayuwil flush with Halted Stubb's back. "Er--shall we, mate?"

"You go on." Stubb points into the forest a distance, to where the shadow of a broad trunk can be faintly descried. He stands aside to let Angus march on ahead a few paces while he turns again to regard the much-abused fox. "Oi ain' got ears for your excuses. Tha lady's roigh'. Your koind been nuffin' but trouble for us from tha start. So if don' mean us no harm, get a foire star'ed." The weasel looks to the cat. "Don' let 'im out a your soigh'. Can' have our Dangy absquatulated wif again.

Angus dips an obedient nod to Stubb. But he turns to regard the others for a brief time, as if mildly concerned for their welfare; not because of Rentha, but the other forces that lurk in these wretched woods. He affords them a vague smile, lifting his injured arm--only its elbow, really, as the sling is rather restrictive--in a salute-like gesture, before sallying forth. "C'mon, bristle-butt. Let's get on with it."

Rentha sighs softly, shrugging imperceptibly, ordered around by a weasel, how far he has fallen.. He carefully takes off his cloak, taking a small pouch from it in the process and disentangling his saber from himself awkardly and wrapping it with the cloak so only the hilt shows. It will only get in the way, but he keeps a sharp eye on it nonetheless. He gathers up some small sticks and laboriosuly drags a couple of hunks toward the circle, staying several arm lengths from the others. Then he leans down next to the wood, arranging it together, all the while keeping a watchful eyes on his possessions and the others.

Amos hangs back, standing in front of the hare as he watches, "On both of them, " The wildcat replies, and gives Angus a nod before it takes off. This before turning to stare at the fox, "Give me your blade Dage."

Stubb smiles. "Fanks, ma'e. We'll be back in ha'f a shake."

Amos grins and salutes.

Continued in “Pacts”

"Stupid's right," Scaith rings at Rentha. "Oi, 'e'll not be ou' of my sights, neither." The marten's head flutters with impaired indignation. She steps toward the vulpine as he crouches, feet rustling dirt and pebbles in his direction. "Wot would bring a beast-- a /fox/, of all beasts-- ou' at this hour, into this clearin', and why're ye so eager t'take orders from a weasel?"

Dangeon eyes the cat. "Eh? Y' leave it alone, I just got it back..." Not quite understanding the request. "Anyway, look, Scary's taking care o' foxy. Sit down. Maney's not here, it's cold and y'r a cat. Thus y'r bally warm, Cattyboss, and I can nap next t' ya."

Rentha starts at the marten's voice, it'd been a long season since he'd spoken much and always kept any other in full view and his hand on his saber. He'd only put it down to avoid further animosity and it made him uneasy. Digging in his pouch, now strapped to his belt, he removed a small blade -- if you could call it that, since the hilt was all but rotted away and the metal pitted, nicked and barely intact --, and placed the two on the ground. Turning his head and going to stand up, he grunts, holding a paw to his side and creakily gets up off the ground. "Well, marten, as you're asking, I haven't had company for a whole season. And if tha' tweren't enough, he pauses for a long breath.

Amos seems to consider the hare's request, staring at the strange fox and giving it a shrug, "I guess he ain't out to cause any bother, " He scowls and turns to the hare, "Give me the sword, I ain't playing pillow for ya, go nap by your own if ya want."

Scaith cocks an eyebrow at the fox. "An 'ole season without company?" she queries. "What's tha' even mean? Like ye didn't see anybeast at all, or ye jus' chose t'live in a hole the whole time?" Her head sways side to side, apparently confused. "An' now ye come out, an' jus' choose t'build a fire f'r the first bunch of oppressin' strangers?"

Rentha wheezes a smidge, breathing out. "Truth be told, not that you'd believe me, I used to be a bit o' a seafaring corsair. Thing is, in me last battle -- a season ago, it were -- I sustained some... let's say... serious injuries.", he stopped for a long breath, massaging his thigh. He paused, possibly for effect, "we were beaten badly by some rats, and me shipmates were in a terrible rush... I were left behind." At that statement, he snarls involuntarily for a moment and then returns to a calm and flat expression. He seems to hesitate for a moment and then speaks more softly, "I barely escaped them rats, they were a nasty bunch, made us look like a bunch of good fun." Going even lower to a whisper, and with maybe a bit of a whimper, he goes on, "They.. were the kind, that e-eat.. their enemies...."

Dangeon is already asleep. The sword is close to her paw, but Amos could probably take it without injury. As the other two talk, she twitches her nose as if in protest; perhaps she's dreaming of cannibals now.

Rentha heard the marten's question, "The woods is a lonely place, and I weren't seeking company." He started again, " Then again, perhaps I might be losing my mind, being a fox ain't all it's cracked up to be."

A laugh twitters from Scaith's lungs, hanging in the frigid air for a moment too long. "Are ye scared o' such things?" she queries. "Seems only natural, to me, tha' one shoul' have t'employ one's enemies f'r such needs; would be a waste of fine vittles, in my eyes."

Rentha looks a bit disgusted, "You're a fine one to talk, marten", he says with an mild air of disgust, "planning on eating the next creature you kill or someone else does?" He wrinkles his muzzle in distate, "It maybe be fine to smash your enemies and rivals to pieces, but I hadn't got a stomach for chomping on them, like some common carrion-eater. Blood-lust don't extend to munching on the bones of your adversaries."

He grimaces, "It might put you off it, if your former companions were the dinner feast and you weren't so far from being dinner too."

Amused by Rentha's obvious disdain, Scaith ripostes, "If i' comes between me eatin' well or eatin' slugs, I'll take the more satisfyin' road. It seems more a disservice to yer kin t' be seen pickin' around in logs and dirt f'r your dinner-- s'no way to be living." Knees bend and the marten settles into the snow. "An' if it were my former companions... then tha's all they would be t'me-- my former mates, not me current, so what use would it be to fret?"

Amos removes a blanket from his pack, covering the hare and letting her keep the sword for now. He really would feel better with some sort of weapon though, still regretting that he had to go lose his after getting all shot up. Meanwhile he listens and watches the fox and marten, giving Scaith a look he grins, "Aye, can't say I disagree with that."

Rentha snorts, "Kin?, what kin?, a fox is his own friend and his brother is his enemy. Though a corsair may have a certain trust in his crew, long as it ain't life, death, or loot. Though, tis true, no way to be living! Fish are much tastier, but they're a mite scarce sometimes and I lost my line a bit back. Can't help it if dead beasts make me stomach take a turn.", he settles back down to get the fire going. "In any case, I am who I am, not who I was. I'm in no position to do the killing and I don't care to be anyone's dinner."

Rentha grabs his chunk of metal and a flint, and carefully coaxes a small flame onto the wood. It sputters out and he continues to work at it at length in silence, muttering oddly to himself, until he gets it going into small, but bright fire.

Scaith shrugs at the tod's response, interest in the subject waning and hunger wrenching her innards. A low grumble seeks immediate attention. "Speakin' of dinner..." She moves vertically, though knees are unsteady as she's far from sober. Her bag is sought, but the unfortunate event of an inadvertent pile within the gaping hole in the ground leads her to realize that her belongings remain in the deep and dimly lit passage. She turns with troubled eyes to Amos; "My dear kitten, would ye kindly aid in th' retrieval of me wares?"

Amos turns to face the marten, looking between her and the tod he smirks, "Sure, but you keep an eye on the hare and that one, " He gestures towards the fox, already moving his way over to the hole. He stops for a moment, looks back over the others and disappears into the hole. He's down there less than a minute though, didn't even bother to await an answer from the marten before he's back up, "Ah ha!" His head pops out of the hole, and he beams while holding a smaller sword than Dangeon's, in worse condition too but its still a weapon and he crosses the distance to hand off her pack.

"Thank ye kindly, kitten," Scaith says to Amos, smiling at her sack; a paw reaches inside to procure a few items wrapped in cloth, smell betraying the contents as food. She unwraps one to reveal cured mackeral, the stench quite overbearing but somehow appetizing. She tears a piece off to stuff in her maw before offering some to Amos and Rentha. "I think I'll be tuckin' in f'r the night; all th' drink and squabblin' and rollin' about has me worn through."