It doesn't matter if she's not happy with the child herself, Lashan takes protecting her Sisters seriously and she nearly puts herself between them to force Guts to look at her instead. She would've if he'd tipped into being more rather than less pissed. After all, he was the one who'd decided he wanted to fight a bear up close.
"Its pelt won't be good for much either, patchy as it is," she says with real regret. Not that she'd want to take the kind of time they'd need to skin a bear out here in the wet night with, still, enemies. "Maybe we can get the head or a paw... Hah, if you were clans this would make you a man."
She is tired, that the thought slips out without her vetting it. She can see how it got there, from the bit about the skin. In the enclave Lashan still has what's left of the hide, the tusks and teeth and bone-beads from the grand old boar she'd hunted and worn in a long-ago ceremony. Certainly she still carries the ink in her skin. That's the last strong, purely sweet memory she has of that time. She snorts like a horse and clears the old pain, regains some of her distance. "You got anything broken? I don't want to stay out here any longer than I have to."
The gore drains gradually from the blade of her longsword, the metal showing pale and bright between rivulets running to the tip. The hilt, unfortunately, acts like any other hilt in this situation and is not washed clean by rain and gravity. Galli, trying desperately to not get chewed out anymore, has let the leads slack and the animal's body slump back down. She takes Lashan's words as a cue to climb on it - she is a fraction of its size, if she curled up she'd be about as big as its head - and start cutting industriously with a curved knife.
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"Its pelt won't be good for much either, patchy as it is," she says with real regret. Not that she'd want to take the kind of time they'd need to skin a bear out here in the wet night with, still, enemies. "Maybe we can get the head or a paw... Hah, if you were clans this would make you a man."
She is tired, that the thought slips out without her vetting it. She can see how it got there, from the bit about the skin. In the enclave Lashan still has what's left of the hide, the tusks and teeth and bone-beads from the grand old boar she'd hunted and worn in a long-ago ceremony. Certainly she still carries the ink in her skin. That's the last strong, purely sweet memory she has of that time. She snorts like a horse and clears the old pain, regains some of her distance. "You got anything broken? I don't want to stay out here any longer than I have to."
The gore drains gradually from the blade of her longsword, the metal showing pale and bright between rivulets running to the tip. The hilt, unfortunately, acts like any other hilt in this situation and is not washed clean by rain and gravity. Galli, trying desperately to not get chewed out anymore, has let the leads slack and the animal's body slump back down. She takes Lashan's words as a cue to climb on it - she is a fraction of its size, if she curled up she'd be about as big as its head - and start cutting industriously with a curved knife.