Yosiah follows Sorala's gaze to Mogwai, nodding. "You wish to talk with the prêtre forestier? He is...irritè, because we chop the trees for homes, no?"
"Sounds good to me. As for the druid, the root cause of the hostilities could be a multitude of things .. I share Mogwai's hope that a peaceful solution can be found. There's already been more than enough pain and suffering."
It didn't sit well with Ehiz that no matter what they'd end up doing, more misery would be sure to follow. Perhaps these were the sacrifices that had to be made in order to lay down a proper foundation for their new community.
As the group gets ready for bed, sitting in their small allotted space on stumps, each of the seven people that the group saved comes by. They've been given spaces on floors or other tents to sleep in, but they each want to thank the group. They shake hands, give hugs, or small gifts - Sarah has a pretty flower she found by the roadside for Ehiz, and Elizabeth has a small coin with the Lebeda crest stamped on it for Murob. Bokken managed to find a small flask of vodka in his many smelly coat pockets, and he offers to share it with Mogwai.
The night is uneventful and safe in the settlement, although not too comfortable. The ground here has neither the pristine comfort of wild grass nor the flat stability of pavement.
In the morning, the settlement during the day is revealed. It is small, but active. Each and every person who lives here desperately wants to survive, which means there are several people out in the shallows fishing, and several more trying to tend small gardens. There are many injured or weak due to the shipwreck, which means there are a lot of people taking care of other people. Several of Breddaric's Blades watch the edges of the village, handaxes and light crossbows in easy reach.
There are no cookfires due to the wood shortage. Instead, a human and a gnome caster work together using simple fire magic at a couple of makeshift ovens dug into the ground to cook vegetables and meat for the many people.
A middle-aged blonde woman, obviously of noble birth but with tattered clothing and dirt smudging her face, leads a small group in prayer to Abadar before casting a spell to conjure a few tables' worth of simple food, which is then shared among everyone.
Breddaric himself comes back to the group at a reasonable morning hour. He shakes hands with anyone who proffers it, and but doesn't wish anyone a good morning. "We tried to talk to that water-man you brought in yesterday," he says, "But we couldn't understand a word he was saying. Maybe you'll have better luck? Anyone want to come talk to him?"
Murob is up early, walking through the village as she confers with her scorpion. The situation seems pretty dire, and she second-guesses her decision of going off to find even more mouths to feed. But while her mind doubts the soundness of this strategy, her heart cannot let those people perish, or be enslaved by the gillmen.
As she returns from her morning walk, she is just in time to hear Breddaric's news. With a glance at Ehiz, she speaks up. "I'll come. My magic allows me to understand him for a brief time."
Yosiah sleeps, the deep, hard sleep of a military man in a safe place after days in the wilderness.
In the morning, he wakes, stiff and sore. After his prayers, and the ritual cleaning of his body and his weapon, he returns from the water to the settlement. He finds Murob, Ehiz, and Breddaric just in time to hear Murob mention her magic. "I can do this too, if we need. We have been traveling for...some time. I think I will not need for speaking with you now." His voice is halting, uncertain, but the words are correct. "We should get the others. The day is short, the work is long."
Waking up and hearing a multitude of voices he doesn't recognize manages to put Ehiz on edge. Annoyed, with both the way he woke up and the unfortunate circumstances the settlement finds itself in, the man gets to his feet while rubbing away the sleep from the corners of his eyes. There was so much that still had to be done, but first things first: let's find a relatively quiet place for prayer and contemplation.
After an hours worth of communing with nature, hoping to distill from it droplets of Erastil's wisdom, Ehiz returns to camp. Shortly after Breddaric visits their camp and he listens to what the man has to say, glancing at Murob when she volunteers to go. "Let's do this quickly and then move on with the tasks still ahead of us."
With a majority of the group ready to head out, Ehiz, Murob and Yosiah accompany Breddaric back to his small ship docked at the pier. Down in the hold, there is a small section in the back with two small wooden cells, and the gillman is inside of one. You are just in time to see a Blade open the door and hurl water on the gillman.
Looking upon him, it's clear that he's been badly beaten. One of his eyes is swollen shut with a painful-looking bruise, and his flesh is black and red over much of it. "He wouldn't give us anything useful the whole time we talked," says Breddaric airily. "Maybe you'll have better luck."
The gillman looks up wearily and sighs. He asks in his strange, labyrinthine language,
Having nothing to offer with the interrogation, Sorala makes her way around First Landing, looking about. Sorala lingers at the edges of the Abadarian's sermon, uncomfortable, but then grabs a handful of food and munches away with gusto. Sighing with contentment, Sorala's growling belly relatively soothed, the White Squire offers her hand to the Abadarian, eager to know the woman's name. She could provide food. She must be protected.
"Sorala. Thank you."
After breakfast, Sorala continues walking the small settlement. She greets the fishers and the farmers, and looks for any nascent businesses; an herbalist, general store, anything else of interest. Having some facility with ships, Sorala lingers at the caravel, looking for a name for the boat, and eyeing its seaworthiness.
Finally, Sorala walks the perimeter of First Landing, looking for good defensive positions, possible weak points and ambush spots, and the like. Predictably, the Irrisenian frowns as she walks. Stopping a nearby Blade, Sorala nods in greeting. "First thing this place needs is a palisade. Has First Landing ever been attacked?"
Anger flares onto Ehiz's face as he turns around to Breddaric and simply shakes his head like a disappointed father would. "He who beats another burns all bridges for proper discourse. This gillman is a person, not a wild dog nor pest, and if we give him no reason to behave properly, we can't expect him to magically start doing so. But I digress seeing as that we're here to get some answers from him."
If allowed to, Ehiz will step forward and sooth the gillman's troubled body with a calming touch.
Murob growls and reaches out for Breddaric's arm as the mercenary unceremoniously splashes the gillman with water. Unsuccessful in stopping him, she gives him a glare as she interposes herself between the gillman and Breddaric.
"He is with us. Do not lay a finger on him again."
Turning away, she shakes her head. "Now I understand Karzok's reaction. If only I had listened to him." She starts to crouch in front of the gillman, then changes her mind and kneels instead. With a hand over her heart, she bows her head to ask his forgiveness. Then she taps her chest. "Murob." Knowing that he doesn't understand her, but still hoping to convey her feelings through tone and gestures, she continues. "I am very sorry for how you have been treated. You came with us willingly to help us and you did not deserve this. No one deserves this."
She offers the gillman her waterskin as she casts the spell of understanding on herself and awaits his reply.
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Breddaric rolls his eyes, though he steps back and sits on a bench outside of the cell. "We won't get far treating our enemies with love and respect when we hardly have anything to give our friends, but... whatever," he says.
The gillman shrugs at Murob's words, though he allows Ehiz to use Erastil's power to salve some of the bruises he received. He sees Murob cast her spell, and recognizes it for what it is now. He holds up his hands as if they were manacled (though they are not) and points out the door. "Are you going to set me free?" he asks, his words magically translated. "What do you want from me? I know you can't understand me - how are you going to even tell me?"
He sighs, and then adds, "You stupid humans are all going to starve to death if you stay here."
The priestess shakes Sorala's hand, introducing herself as Victoria Rossi, Banker of Abadar. "I was supposed to come here to help set up the town's financial system," she says. "Now it's all I can do to help keep everyone fed day-to-day." she sighs, her eyes downcast as she pushes her serving of food to a townsperson.
The town is in a good spot, on a small isthmus. Several hundred people could live on this small area until the town had to expand or split, and the only land approach is relatively thin and defensible, though the thick undergrowth everywhere here might make it easy for a single person to sneak into the village. It doesn't have much in the way of commerce - there's not really any way to gather new resources with the situation as it is right now. Sorala's not even really sure what kinds of tradespeople are available.
The Blades' and farmers' small caravel is called The Point Man, and it looks perfectly seaworthy. It arrived weeks before you did, which means it likely didn't have any of the difficulties that you did. It can carry 40 people relatively comfortably.
The Blade that Sorala strikes up conversation with is a very young man - maybe 16 or 17. He nervously fingers the handaxe that hangs from his belt, and he looks hungry. "A palisade? Like... a wall? What would we make it out of...?"
"Um, it's been attacked once. That druid who destroyed the farming settlement out west came two or three days ago with a few beasts, but we chased her off. Got some good meat out of that fight, too. Lost Wilbur, though. I doubt she'll come back after that ass-kicking that Breddaric gave her."
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In the morning, Mogwai joins the prayer. While it's not to the deity he worships, he thinks it's important to be involved and present, and see if he can learn anything about the fledgling community.
After the service ends and he finishes learning what he can, Mogwai returns to his own "lodgings" to have a private prayer to Sarenrae, before following the others to the boat prison.
As Breddaric gives justification for beating the Gillman, Mogwai looks at him in disbelief. "Not could beat the language into him?" He asks, dryly. "Your tongue not easy learn. Talking with fist not help." He keeps an eye on Breddaric, but as the others also come to the Gillman's defense, Mogwai nods, satisfied, and steps away from the others with a sigh of relief.
He's pleased that his companions are in agreement about these things. There was too much to deal with to have to be looking after them. Breddaric alone was problematic, others seeing things the way he did... well... Mogwai was glad things weren't that way.
Mogwai is already moving away when Breddaric comments about not helping their enemies, and he pauses and frowns. "Long shanks, short sight." He mutters, mostly to himself, before he continues walking.
"We have not yet established that this particular gillman is our enemy." Murob replies to Breddaric. "He came with us willingly, to help us find lost colonists."
Resolutely turning her back on the mercenary, she continues her dialogue with the gillman. Obviously he cannot understand her, so she resorts to pantomime again, miming eating and raising her eyebrows at him. "Starve? How so?"
Then she uses her tough fingernails to draw a series of pictures on the floor in front of the gillman, crude stick figures: a large ship broken in two, people tossed out; gillmen taking some of the people; a series of figures that represents Murob and her companions (she points to the figures and then to herself, Ehiz, Mogwai and Yosiah to make it plainer), accompanied by the gillman (she points to him); the group is in a boat, the gillman at the prow. She points to that last picture, points to the gillman again, then to the people from the wrecked ship that the other gillmen took.
"I want -you- to take -us- to the other people on the ship."
It might have seemed a strange thing to Sorala, to be more concerned with a financial system than the feeding of one's community. Well, if the White Squire wasn't born in Irrisen, where there was little concern at all with the hunger and fear born by the populace. Sorala shrugged, nonplussed. "The finances will come, Banker Rossi. We will clear the countryside of threats, set up farms, and then the money will follow."
The White Squire frowns slightly as the priestess pushes her food off to the villager. [b]"Take your food. Eat it. Don't feel bad about doing so. You are important. If you starve, so will many others."
-----------------
The town's location pleases Sorala, her perpetual frown as the Squire walks one of concentration rather than disappointment. First Landing would be easy to defend - by land at least - once they got the palisade built. Which only furthered Sorala's determination to see the druid dealt with, one way or the other.
Sorala cocks her head to the side, giving the young Blade an inscrutable look. It wasn't clear to Sorala if he was joking with her or not. In the end, she decided he wasn't. Probably.
"Wood. We build the pali... wall out of wood. We'll clear the surrounding land of threats and then start with First Landing's defenses."
Reaching out, the White Squire offered her hand. "When did you join the Blades? What sort of training have you had? What is your name? I'm Sorala."
Removing some food from her pack, the White Squire hands it over to the boy. "You need a full belly to defend First Landing."
Curious and with obvious intent, the solemn priest watches Murob communicate with the gillman. They had the questions, they knew their goals, but t'was those darn answers that were lacking for now.
Yosiah, still confused and somewhat perturbed by the presence of a gillman in their midst, leaves the boat prison during Murob's conversation. "I'm sure they'll tell me if something important happens..." he mutters to himself as he finds the White Squire and joins her. "This is a good land. I think it will be better if we build un palissade here, to keep bad people away. You have made friends with these people?"
Mogwai ranges around the settlement, talking to people of all stripes and engaging in the Abadarian's prayer. From what he can tell, morale is very low. There are a few people who are still happy to be here, but Mogwai talks to several people who say that Breddaric is going to ruin the effort. They think that they should just travel north to join the Chelaxians, or hop back on the ship and find another site to start at, but Breddaric is too stubborn to have it.
There are also many people missing family members, but Breddaric refuses to consider sending his Blades out to find them.
"This land is cursed," says the gillmen. "Nobody wants to live here. Now, if you come with me to my peoples' island, we can make sure you're all properly fed and sheltered... we've been doing it for people for a long time." The sly grin on his face makes it clear that he's not being completely sincere, and your knowledge that the gillmen are slavers colors the offer in a different light.
"I'm happy to help navigate you to my people. I'll be hailed as a hero for helping to turn over so many people all by myself."
He chuckles. "And if you think you have some sort of choice, you'd be wrong. It's okay, I can wait. Give it a week or two. You'll get desperate enough."
"Oh yeah?" chuckles Rossi. "I wish Valethorn had such a go-getter attitude. And it's okay - I can eat later. If you're going to be adventuring and conquering threats, you need a full belly a little bit more. Here." She casts another spell on the handful of food that Sorala grabbed up, and as she eats it, it fills her completely. sating her hunger.
The Blade nods. "Yes. We need to kill that lion-creature if anyone's gonna be willing to go logging, though. We had a logging lodge out in the forest. The building might still be there, but a beast burst in and killed half of the loggers before the rest fled. We lost two Blades trying to re-take it, too. The creature attacked again in the night after we had brought the loggers back."
He thinks for a moment before answering Sorala's question. "I joined in the preparation to come out here. Breddaric needed to swell his ranks for this contract, and hired on some people. I'm from Tymon, so I've done plenty of fighting, but Breddaric gave me some basic training in formation fighting since I joined. Why?"
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The half-orc woman narrows her eyes, translating the gillman's words to the others as her gaze never leave his face. She feels... not anger, but disappointment. She had hoped that this time it would be different, that their fledgling colony and the gillmen could perhaps coexist in peace. That this one might actually help them. But no. All he, and they, cared about was getting more slaves.
Shaking her head, she turns away and speaks to the others. "I was wrong. Trying to save the colonists that the gillmen took would be foolish at this stage. They are slaves, so we must hope that the gillmen will keep them alive. We *will* rescue them, but now we do not have the strength to do so. Instead, we must turn our attention to building up First Landing." Looking at Breddaric, she continues. "We will want to talk to this one some more, later. But please, no more beatings, they serve no good. I can imagine that provisions are a concern, so I will use my own rations to feed the prisoner. We should keep him alive, he is our only hope of finding some of the lost colonists. And we will help you here however we can. We will make First Landing Thrive, together."
Yosiah considers the young man's words, tracing the forest line with his gaze as he taps his foot. "If the creature is making a hunt, maybe it is time we make a hunt for him. This will help people to feel safe, and we need the supplies?" He asks the idea as a question, shrugging as he turns to Sorala for validation. "It would also perhaps be good to have a lodge outside this place, I think."
Sorala shrugs, noncommittal. She didn't know of this Tymon place,
but it seemed as if it raised up those that like to fight. "Just curious as to the skill set of the Blades is all."
Turning to Yosiah, the White Squire nods. "Agreed. A hunt would clear the way for the loggers, and give us meat. The cat must be big. And, it seems fixated on the logger camp. We can likely bring it to us."
"Why do you tap your foot? Is it in impatience? Do you have too much energy? Save it, if so. You'll need it."
Looking back to the Blade, Sorala presses him for more information. "What did you say your name is again? How easy is it to get to the logger's camp? Can you take us there?"
The young Blade nods vigorously, obviously excited. "You two look like you can handle yourselves, but if you go after this monster, be careful. I've seen it in action, I watched it kill two of my comrades. It is vicious. After we pulled out, we even thought we had saved George, but we couldn't stop the bleeding and he bled out only a minute or so after we got away."
When Sorala mentions his name, he slaps himself on the forehead. "D'oh! Sorry, I forgot. I'm Rick."
Mogwai shares in the civilian's worries, especially where Breddaric is concerned, but tries to instill in them a sense of hope. He says that the gods are looking out for us, and that more of us are finding our ways here, that things will get better, and so on. But he's not stupid, and realises how precarious the situation is. Nothing he says is in such a way that diminishes their concerns.
Afterwards, Mogwai again faces the dilemma of the missing people and the adequate food supplies. Both problems would need to be dealt with before long, for either starvation or despair would be enough on their own to kill this encampment. Both of those things combined severely diminished the available time.
Mogwai decides that the first thing he must do is leave First Landing, even if it's alone. Spending more time in the surrounding woods would help. Looking for evidence of others passing through, finding animals to hunt, and searching for the supposed Druid. Looking at the conditions of First Landing, Mogwai frowns, thinking it's probably better that he doesn't go too far away.
Sitting down in the dirt, Mogwai draws himself a map from memory of the route they took, at least as he remembers it. Thinking about how long they went and in what period of time, he starts contemplating how much he can search around the surrounding lands. Perhaps they could put up some kind of... what was the human word for them... signs? Helping to lead people who were not skilled in tracking.
With a grunt, Mogwai pauses in his planning, gets up from the dirt, and moves to find Murob. He gives her a short bow as he approaches, apologetically. "Not try being interruption. Mogwai have thoughts." Gesturing to the woods beyond first landing, he continues. "Need get familiar with land. Look for missings, find beasts for eat, search for druid, bring trees. Must add knowledge." He searches for the words. "Must... tame lands."
He points to the sun still moving towards the sky. "Mogwai start now."
The words spoken by the witch clawed at the priest's heart and he had troubles suppressing his emmotions. That flare of hope extinguished mid flight and left him standing in the dark. "That is truly disheartening news, Murob. But alas, we must row with the oars we've been given as the fishermen from my hometown say."
The man eyed the gillman once more and simply shook his head as a disappointed father would. Somewhere above, Erastil approved.
As Mogwai finds her, Murob listens to his proposal, nodding. "Good plan. We need to know the lay of the land. I will come with you. And I also had thoughts. What if the druid and the beast are one and the same? Druids can change into beast shape, isn't it so?" She surveys the area beyond the fledgling settlement as she thinks some more. "This would be a good spot, if not for all these problems. Alright, let's see what we can do about it, one thing at a time."
Sorala nods, an official greeting. "Clear skies, Rick. Make sure you stay full. We need our warriors hale and happy."
Turning to Yosiah, Sorala looks back towards First Landing. "Shall we find the others, see if anyone wants to catch a cat?"
Yosiah nods, cracking his knuckles and flashing an almost-maniacal grin. "Oh yes, please. All of this...talking, is hard. Hunting cats? This, I know how to do. It is easier now, we have a home to return to. Luck will be with us, and we will eat good meat from it. A feast!"
School divination; Level cleric 2, bard 2, druid 2, ranger 2, witch 2
Casting Time 1 minute
Components V, S, M (a piece of soil from the land to be memorized)
Range personal
Target you
Duration 1 day
Saving Throw none; Spell Resistance yes
In a flash of recognition, you learn about the geography of your surroundings within a radius of 1 mile per 2 caster levels (minimum 1 mile). This instant familiarity grants you an insight bonus equal to your caster level (maximum +5) on Knowledge (geography) checks and Survival checks to avoid getting lost so long as you remain in the affected area.
Additionally, for the duration of the spell you can make Knowledge (geography) checks regarding the affected area as though you were trained in that skill.
Yosiah catches a glimpse of Mogwai and Murob departing First Landing, and rushes to catch up to them. As he approaches, he draws his hatchet from his belt, twirling it idly in his right hand. "It is good that we are going. Too much talk. Now is the time for doing. We go to the farm?"
Having decided (narrowly) which objective had the most priority, the group gathers itself on the edge of the village and (with directions from a First Landing-er) heads out along a road towards the farmlands which Breddaric and his men established weeks ago. It isn't a long walk, only a mile or so, so only about fifteen minutes. After that short amount of time, the party enters an area that must not have been too thick with undergrowth, and which is relatively flat. It has been cleared of trees, and the stumps uprooted. A pair of farmhouses fit for two large farming families and a few farmhands sit at the center of two fields which are both split into three sections - one empty, one overgrown with corn and one which Ehiz recognizes as a potato farm.
The farmhouses are clearly overgrown with vines. The doors have been shattered inwards, and a stillness hangs in the area here. Weeds choke the ground everywhere you step, and the roads are covered with grass and dandelions and vines. It seems as if nature has sprung forward with double speed and force to re-claim this area. There is nobody around. It is quiet save for the screeching of jungle birds and the rustle of leaves on wind.
Sorala draws her falcata and moves towards the front of the group, her mouth slightly agape at the sight of the bounty going to waste in the fields, the Irrisenian's face flushing red with anger. Any of the villagers of her childhood village couldn't have even imagined such a sight, and here, under this blazing sun, the farms went untended - all because of one woman.
"She's trying to kill us all," the White Squire says, gritting her teeth. "Talk until you can't talk any more, but if she's unwilling to accommodate, it is foolishness to wait for her to change her mind."
Moving towards the farmhouses, Sorala looks for signs of danger, and pausing briefly to glance meaningfully to her companions, grasps a doorknob and pushes it open...
Yosiah squeezes the leather grip on his hatchet, grimacing as he surveys the scene. "There is too much good food here. Too many bad plants, for so short time. I agree, she tries to kill us like this. Slow death, with starving. We have children. This is not right."
The ACDF Corporal wipes a tear from his eye as he considers the idea of starving children - a deeply sacrilegious concept, for a worshipper of the God of Prosperity.
"Enough talk. Her heart is rotten, if she does this."
"Some people care not for the suffering of others. They'd rather willingly hide behind scripture and dogma. The Divine Disconnect, where mortals forget that we are of flesh and blood, a duet of heart and soul." Ehiz then snarls, knowing well what horrible things mortals are capable of when they think they have the backing of the Divine.
"Well, let's get on with it. Perhaps we should look for signs and tracks first? She has attacked anyone working the fields so if we cannot find her, we can always try that trigger. Knowing she'll attack with primal fury, we can set a trap to increase our chance at victory. It might literally be a wild animal we're hunting down here - I've heard stories before of druids and those who commune with nature losing their civilized minds."
Sorala peeks inside of one of the farmhouses, carefully opening the door. As she goes inside, a rotten smell overwhelms her. This farmhouse is simple if large, and there is a sad sight before her. A partially-rotted corpse is near the kitchen area, having been killed in the process of running towards the front door. One of the kitchen windows has been smashed, and the window's frame is broken in several places.
The body has been ripped apart, with an arm and a leg separated. An arm can be found several feet to the body's left, while the leg is missing completely. It was a young man, an unarmed farmer. There are marks on the walls in several places of claw gouges as well.
Ehiz spends an hour or so ranging around the farm, looking for tracks. He finds several things of interest: It seems that there was a short battle here awhile ago, from some hurried and frenzied tracks. There are the tracks of several wolves, one of them much larger than the others. In the crop-area he finds two more bodies - farmhands who died fighting, sickles in hand.
Ehiz is able to determine which direction the wolves came and went from. The wolves entered and left the farmland from the southwest.
Such anger over the lost crops... but hungry people can get quite upset, she knew that. She wanted to say that, to the druid, the farms and farmers and loggers were likely invaders and tresspassers, but she keeps her silence. And as they discover body after body, Murob can no longer justify the druid's behaviour. Like Sorala and Ehiz, she examines the farmhouse and surrounding area for any indication of what happened here and where they need to head to next in order to find this druid.
The farmer scrapes his throat to get the attention of his companions. "It seems the locals were attacked by a coordinated wolf attack. One of them was significantly bigger than the others. Whether this was the druidess or her most favored companion, I don't know, but it does make it apparent this is no ordinary wolf attack."
He then falls quiet for a moment. "I discovered two more bodies in the fields. If we're able to take care of this wolf menace, I say we return here and give them proper burial rites."
The man's tone had become solemn and somber. There would be nothing heroic about what they were to do. Those who could be saved were already dead.
Sorala nods, giving the priest a somber look. "Bad things happen to bodies desecrated so. It is best we put them to rest as soon as possible."
Keeping her sword drawn, Sorala eyes the tracks. "Shall we find this druid and her pack, then?"
Ehiz narrows his eyes when Sorala speaks of what could happen to the bodies after facing such a horrid death. The hand that holds his spear grows visibly pale as it clenches the wood. "I say we should. I doubt there's anything left to be found but misery at the farm. The tracks suggest they went southwest. We can take it from there."
Murob searches alongside her compatriots and finds two things of interest. For one, she finds a silver locket around the neck of one of the dead farmers, tucked underneath his shirt. Inside is a small (very good!) drawing of a young woman along with a short, sappy love poem apparently written by that young woman.
For two, she works with Ehiz to narrow down the wolf tracks. It looks like about eight wolves were part of the attack here, and based off of the largest tracks temporarily turning into barefoot human tracks, the largest wolf was the druidess herself.
"The druidess was here. See, how the largest wolf tracks turn into human prints? She had seven or so other wolves with her." Murob indicates the tracks to her companions.
The locket she tucks into one of her belt pouches, intent on asking around First Landing for the young woman. Perhaps she was one of the other colonists in the settlement, perhaps she was still waiting to make the crossing - either way, she deserved to know what had happened to her beloved.
Mogwai is distressed over the scene, and over the bloodlust that it fills his comrades with. He sticks close to Murob, concerned about being outnumbered by the others, wondering if they'd kill him to kill the druid.
Despite the plants overrunning the place, he wants to believe that she can be reasoned with. While it's a cruel way to fight, these are things that happen in nature, and Mogwai understands that. The humans are so used to their city life that they forget. Wolves tear younglings apart, sever body parts. Mogwai clings to this idea of just a pack of wolves until Murob points out the tracks, at which point his heart sinks further.
He was certain there would be no reasoning now. The others wouldn't allow it. Lines had been crossed and only blood would satisfy them. Looking up at Murob he says "Must kill now?" still hoping that at least she would tell him no.