The nature of animals is that they are inherently suspicious of anything, especially those they do not know and even less so those they do not trust. Together, one imagines that short of their tireless need for survival, these are but a few reasons they swing so wildly from one spectrum to another in a breath; most often without outward evidence. So when it came to the story, the feral druid's mind quickly elaborated to itself how unusual it proved. The reaction of the firbolgs wasn't a point either, more that the way the two shared a very intense stare between them. There was palpable distrust and that they even so much as let them back in after that there was proof enough now of woodland hospitality.

Despite the woman's words, the tremendous felid proved not to have an obvious reaction, nothing more than the tip of its tail flick against Harriet's side and the slow blink of its eyes. Playing it off with the sort of casual coolness felines were renowned for, the man that was the cat seemed not to play his hand - or paw as it were in this case. There was no mistaking the suspicion in those wild eyes though, but a good hunter preferred the surprise.

There was still more these men weren't sharing and dead men, without help, do not often tell their tales. First, they needed to understand just [i]what[/i] happened and who these men were now.