The others must be downwind, Cian surmised, thrusting her necklace through the neck opening of her boiled leather breastplate before she could slip her head through the hole. As she did, she could catch the scent of the newcomers, the metallic scent of their blood, the beating of their hearts as it rushed through their veins and arteries....

"I... thirst," she growls, then grabs ahold of her necklace above the seal. "Cursed thing! Leaving me all weak and unable to fight! Must I sup when others have sated themselves, leaving me the scraps?! Why can I not free myself of this curse?"

Turning, she glares at Sariel angrily as she splashes ashore. "They do not look to me to be willing to talk!"

"Guard yourself well, Lady Gaaaangraenah," Cian added, "Least they try to roast you in your armor!"