Kire raised an eyebrow at Rulitus’s greeting and was about to prepare a retort when Ysaryn beat her to the punch. Looking from him to the Shadow Elf, she waited to see if she needed to step in between the two of them or if the tension will resolve on its own. It looked as if Ysaryn’s first impression of Rulitus was the exact opposite of her current disposition towards her, and Kire wasn’t sure whether to find this amusing or to feel a little sorry for Ruli. [i]Then again, he seems to have the tendency to court that kind of attitude.[/i] He slunk away without much of a fight, however, and the two women were left alone in the kitchen. 

“I could use a bath, myself,” she remarked, “but food, first.” The venison looked burnt on one side and undercooked on the other, so she took over turning it on the spit. She still was no good cook, but having most of one’s royal comforts taken away, Kire had to learn some basic necessities. “I’m—something of a chieftain, myself. Back home. And like you, it means little at the moment.” Kire shrugged a shoulder as she prepared the meat. She was ravenous, but fully aware that she was under the hospitality of refugees, she didn’t take a lot. Kire ate, lapsing into silence for a while. “You don’t trust him, do you?” she asked. “He’s not the most pleasant. But he seems—alright,” she finished lamely, rolling her eyes at her own feeble attempt to defend him. There really wasn’t a lot she could say, and given that she would’ve snapped at him too if Ysaryn hadn’t beat her to it, it was a little hypocritical.