The mass of people within the mess hall began to swell. It hadn’t been that long ago that this type of environment would have sent her running for the hills, literally. The tables seemed to constantly rotate occupants. Others milled about, chatting and moving amongst the groups. The voices all became a blurry chorus with the more soprano and baritone being distinctive. Her head canted and turned slowly to pick up specific conversations and sounds in the now thrumming center of the Silver Leaves, though she couldn’t follow any and it seemed both her compatriots were letting the exhaustion take their voices. She made no effort to start one, content with the position of observer. She was thankful to have the wall to her back, for even amongst friends it was hard to fight the compelling instincts of self-preservation that gave her anxiety issues in the city that nagged at her, especially when fatigued.

She could find interest in the physical and subconscious interactions that were going on around her at least and they distracted her from the claustrophobia. There were no written rules in regard to seating arrangements, not that she could have read them anyways. But there was definitely an order. Just as she and her two companions had fallen into her accustomed pack mentality those around her broke up and fit in. Surprisingly it was not their specific skill sets that created the minute divides drawing them to their tables. You didn’tt see archers only surrounded by archers; though the healers seemed to be the main exception, grouping together more often than not. Rank was a much better indicator. Her eyes traveled towards what would be considered the head of the mess hall. The tables in this area were mainly populated with the jaded, the respected; teachers, leaders and veterans. The man they had followed in was sitting at a table closer to the front. He seemed warmer amongst comrades he had probably fought alongside for years, but the spilling of blood does that to people.

Just as Lin was thinking this her own blood brother had slipped his way in front of her. What could only be called a squeal escaped her, slightly startling her two half sleeping friends. As Iano spoke her arms wrapped around his neck just as quickly as he stepped into range. It was hard to tell with a thing like Lin whether or not she was embracing him for a hug or she was going to strangle the jovial tindra. Her tanned arms didn’t flex though and simply kissed across his own exotic coloring. She released him, pushing him back a little and then hitting her forehead against his like a feline nuzzling a friend, though her skull was not exactly gentle and if the room had been quite there surely would have been a soft thwack. A cringe threatened her upturned lips, but only for a second as last night’s activities rose fresh to her consciousness.

Having remembered last night she brushed at Iano, urging him to turn towards her gaze without actually spinning the boy. “Crastel, Dalk, Iano.” She grabbed at a piece of meat, barely cooked that had been wrapped in a lettucelike leaf, gesturing for Iano to help himself to her plate as she took a bite. She knew he would be hungry. He had obviously chosen to see her before heading towards the grub line which was wavering but steady. There was no worry. The food was plentiful. She was honored nonetheless. She really couldn’t shake some of the pack habits and the importance of food was one such nuance that still dictated rules and instincts. She was unsure if the two new friends knew of Iano so her sharing her food also went to show them of her high respect for the tindra beside her. In between chewing she smiled at Iano.

“You look tired. You’re getting old.” She was teasing him of course, nudging playfully into his ribs with a bruised and slightly dirty elbow.