The huntsman, feigning captive as he was, shared an off glance with the small woman that turned out to indeed be Parum and something of interest sparked in her eyes. She hesitated, almost paused for a moment as they looked to one another then went on with her business, back wherever it seems she had come from; Brannor reasoned this to be near where they had dismissed him from. But to what ends? It seemed plausible she had learned something, yet at this moment had no opportunity to share it or split the savage warrior from the work detail he was placed in without arousing suspicion. Such a case was what the man took as truth more than anything, the theorizing and hypotheticals of what the rest found themselves to neither his business or interest, rather that she seemed to have gleaned something and just had not the chance to intervene.

What was confirmed to him was that the moment he had the opportunity, he would prefer to put his armored hands upon more of these pathetic creatures' thin necks and seize the life from them. Not because he had any particular malice, these tiny dragon things and their servants seemed like any other quarry outwardly, rather he would not be troubled or trespassed upon by their vileness and latent evil. This cult made a terrible mistake upon raiding Greenest and simply vanishing as they did, so the sooner the blade could be swung to hew their scouts and their numbers - to send a message they had crossed a line - the better. If only the town itself had at last sent messengers out, not that they would return soon by any means, no more than a day being past, but hunting even a small army was a suicidal task by its self; he could kill them when and where they slept, when their backs were laid bare and they thought themselves safe, skulking about outside the firelight as a [i]true[/i] monster, a terror they should well know, but not as their great number here and not now.

They still needed this monk, for reasons the man could not remember despite having ample time between moving crates and apparent loot. In fact, the entirety of that exchange was now a hazy, distorted memory, one possessed of restrained and wavering fury, the tail end of an avalanche or the last flickers of a wildfire. Certainly they were mighty when enflamed or rolling, but having survived a would-be death only to wake to an intruder whilst in its thrall made for confusing thoughts. Perhaps his mind would be clearer when the darkness of night would fall, when these dragon cultists would become still; then too might it be he had an opportunity to seek his answers out, or better yet, the others have already done so...

[@Hekazu][@Ryonara][@Lucius Cypher][@Gordian Nought][@Irredeemable]