Cedar's eyes went instantly to the tall, stern woman in the cart, swaddled in bandages.

Matilda.  She stunk of a kind of fire and burning he was unfamiliar with, and the stench of blood and sweat, which he was. A second snuff of the air revealed the blood was hers. If his face would have allowed it, he'd have frowned.

"[color=7bcdc8]E'scuse me.[/color]" He gruffed, then padded around the group, then climbed into the back of the wagon, causing it to rock and lurch.

She did not look to be in a very talkative mood. Some stange truce between despair and burning, murderous fury burned on her countenance, and it made his fur bristle with unconscious warning. He locked eyes with her for a few seconds, trying and testing to see if he could continue his approach. The wait felt dreadfully long, despite being only about 2 seconds in reality.  The prickle of deadly warning did not abate.  Very few 'humans' (using the term loosely) could illicit such a reaction in him, his brother Oak, and their father, being the only others he had felt it from, though wild creatures of sufficient strength or desperation could do it on occasion...

'[color=7bcdc8]Yer hurt.[/color]" He gruffed, keeping the needed respectful distance.

Her countenence twisted into a put-out scowl, wordlessly expressing a sarcastic 'no shit.' If he was reading her body's mocements and her scent right, she was 'fed up' with people making that observation about her, and wanted to be left alone. There were undertones of worry, doubt, fear, .. mingled with blood rage, fury, and a will to do brutal murder.  It smelled... volatile.  

"[color=7bcdc8]I kin fix i' bett'r. Don' gotta be wrapp'd up li'e a big bag a meat. Lemme up 'ere, would ya?[/color]"