Serah was a vexing sight as she interposed herself between Zogolli and his fanged foe, made all the more perplexing for her efforts to parley with the peregrine predator. A strange breed--as were all the runtfolk to his eyes--halfway to being human and wholly something else; it bewildered him at how bashful their diminutive diplomat seemed in delivering the creature's demands. It was hungry, the druid told; a motivation elegant in its simplicity. As a Dosvean he could respect the common ground they shared, however small it was; eat when you're hungry, sleep when you're tired, kill what you want dead. Shame then that it was this same heritage that ensured he could not abide the animal on its own terms.

Power is like fire in that it makes a fine slave but poor master, indeed the pursuit of it had long consumed the swordsman. Of food he had plenty but it was more than a morsel that the monster sought, the very askance avowed of overt threat. So was how he saw it, and Robbin too Zogolli surmised once a cursory glance ran over the skullduggerer's bow. Yet the fact that their band was far from unanimous in this notion was an obvious one; Serah had met malice with mercy and the bard had banged out a melody alongside her. Woe as he was to admit it he could not accomplish this undertaking alone, and alienating them now would be foolish. Should he force their hand by attacking the corrupted thing it seemed Alexandria could very well be the fulcrum on which opinion turned, not being especially close with the woman this made for a poor gambit. In truth there was only one road open to him.

He took it, dulcet tones surfacing over the brassy knells of Linoleum's pervading percussion.

"Then you'd aught explain to this half starved scavenger we're on our own hunt, and like as not to leave bodies in our wake. It can choose here and now if it wants it's belly full my steel or our quarry, either answer will scarcely break my stride."