It was a bit foolish for Feral to assume nobody would try striking up a conversation after she went out of her way to extend her introduction, but assume she had. When the young Sankta across the cargo hold inquired as to how her first year had been going, she spent a moment chewing on her lower lip, mulling over the words she could use to explain her drifter-like status without appearing unreliable. Perhaps it would have been better if she had not, for not a second later did the vessel they inhabited began to somehow shake even more violently than it had before. The turbulent thrashing that followed was scarcely worth the time it had bought her, especially when the jostling had nearly caused her to take a chunk out of the lip she had been gnawing in contemplation. 

More veteran members of their group may have had the fortitude and experience to marvel at the modern wonder that their vessel hurtled so boldly towards, but Feral did not. While her fellows peered out foggy glass windows to appreciate their new home in the sky, the Lupo kept her amber gaze locked firmly on the floor of the cargo plane, as if somehow it would anchor her through the incredibly bumping ride. With her arms and legs locked firmly around the lengthy blade she had brought along for the ride, Feral remained stationary and silent all the way through the docking procedure and the long elevator ride inside Vindsvalr. Only the loud clank of the departure ramp stirred her from her stupor, and she managed to hike herself up onto shaky legs using the scabbard of her blade as a balance point. 

Hobbling out of the transport on the heel of the majority of others, Feral spent the following few moments ensuring the contents of her stomach stayed put—a task not so easily accomplished, with her team mates eagerly discussing breakfast options—before she finally made good on a long overdue obligation.

[color=d2d9db]"Not s'good."[/color] She muttered, turning her head just a tad towards the blonde Sankta to indication she had finally answered Paval.