“Ah,” Claw responded. Satisfied with the explanation given to him, the del’korm quickly adopted what passed for a customary relaxed posture among his people: back straightened; tail kicking up light puffs of dirty dust as it lazily swished to and fro behind him; pointed ears set in a neutral position. He looked at the collection of beings assembled in front of him once more, and then fixed his predatory eyes, now no longer shimmering with mild enmity for the newcomer with the big sword, upon a sleeping Iridiel. 
 
He was mildly concerned for her. She was still unconscious, and had been in such a lifeless state for quite some time now. Claw pondered if it were at all possible that she had been stricken with some sort of ailment during the trio’s violent encounter with what had apparently been a “lohk”. Maybe her soul was sick? Soul sickness did exist in Malkor’Kurz (and Iridiel was most definitely exhibiting a number of the symptoms that were associated with the disease). Was it possible that it existed here too? Maybe the lohk had cast a spell upon her in the final seconds of its life that afflicted her---a final act of petty retribution to punish the one who had dealt it a mortal blow. 

Soul sickness, although entirely painless, was not only incurable, but almost always lethal as well. Claw hoped that she didn't have it. 

And like with Domhnall, he had grown quite fond of Iridiel. The magical power that she had displayed during the violent circumstances of their initial meeting deeply intrigued the moderately experienced Echoer. He meant to ask her about it. Perhaps he could show her how to wield the Echo and, in return, she could teach him how to do what she had done?

The mere possibility of losing her this early in their companionship gnawed savagely at Claw's conscious. 

He wasn't ready to lose Iridiel. Or Domhnall. Or any of them for that matter. Claw silently reached across the Gelid Union to touch La'Kan's semi-divine presence, asking the venerable hero-god to lend his non-del'korm friend a minute portion of his own inexhaustible fortitude for good measure. 

“Yes, let us go.” Claw muttered modestly, his eyes still glued to Iridiel’s motionless form.