[color=D6CC88]The moorcat looked at Nymira as she came near, making no protest to her approach.  Amuné pulled away at the Dimuran's touch, and refused to look at her.  The girl was too busy sobbing to hear the guards.  She did notice being picked up, however, and was not happy about that.  Nymira was strange -- she looked funny, being Dimuran, and she was arrogant and rude and Amuné wasn't sure if she liked the woman.  People she wasn't sure about were not a welcome presence at the moment, but the girl was in no mood to tell them in a reasonable fashion.  Instead she did what came naturally to overwhelmed children.
She threw a fit.

Wyth pinned his ears back in displeasure.  He adored his girl, but the loud noises she was making were awful.  She did that sometimes, when upset, angry, or even a combination of the two, and while those certainly weren't good feelings, they were better than the hurt and terror she'd been expressing earlier.  The cat brushed past Nymira's knees to let her know that he didn't mind what she was doing, and stayed beside her on the way to the gangplank.

The attitude of the guards, however, along with the shiny sharp sticks they held, did not meet with his favor.  Wyth pushed passed the woman that carried his girl, his fur bristling.  Nymira's steady tone, and the cooperation both she and the man gave these newcomers told him not to attack first, but he wouldn't just watch if they started something, nor did he want them close to his girl with their weapons out.[/color]