[indent]As requested, the Dorcha took the wood from Beren  and moved to a spot beside the Monk, plopping herself down comfortably onto the grass. She began whittling each one down one by one into spikes, placing them in a pile beside her. She took meticulous care with the work - ensuring that each one was almost identical to the next one.

Her pile currently consisted of one spike - and the second was in her hands, her eyes squinting between the two. This was not really work to her. In her concentration, she poked out her tongue at the side of her mouth and rose an eyebrow at an alarming angle. It was frustrating. The others were out in the woods - possibly in great danger, and yet here she was - whittling wood. She sighed loudly before looking over at Beren who had continued his work.

"When will they be back?" she asked abruptly, as if she expected Beren to know the exact details. "How long do we wait before we should help them?" The words weren't coming out right, which wasn't unusual for the troubled girl, but what she had been meaning to say was, [i]Are we expected to search for them if they don't return?[/i] Perhaps the more altruistic sounding question would keep her in the graces of the group - even if that was not what had been intended. 

She stood up, huffing out a great breath of exasperation, twirling the hunting knife in her hand near perfectly, especially as she was absent-minded. "Are they going to be okay? They can handle.... Things?!" She stepped close to Beren, a whimsically confused expression upon her grey face. She was thinking of Calanon, and in her gut she felt that something wasn't going right. She'd tried to communicate it earlier. 

The strap of the crossbow on her shoulder was beginning to rub and itch and in response to the irritation, she rolled her shoulder forward as she spoke to Beren, arms folded over her chest. "We should have just left."

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