Liliana stood and stared at the top of the hill as soon as the top of the hunter's head crested the snow, watching blankly as he approached. She noticed the brisk pace to his steps and the tension that lay across his shoulders, and though she couldn't see any of his face she knew that he was not relaxed. She wouldn't really qualify it as a "hurry"; after all, she had seen how fast he took off when those screams cut through the thick air not long ago and she knew what he looked like when he was in a hurry. His pack of men followed him faithfully, and as the entire group began the downhill trek part of the approach to the clearing, the hooded woman could see clearly that none had been lost. The opposite, actually; his little group appeared to have grown a bit.<br/><br/>Her void optics flitted to the two women in his new crew, particularly the little one. The source of the screaming, if she had to guess. The child's hair was long and rather tangled, her round face and dark eyes a stark contrast to the pale eyes and angular cheekbones of most people in this area. She was a small child, even in her thick coat and scarf, but there was a sort of harshness about her. Maybe "harsh" was the wrong word. There was something... mature about her. The way she held her head, or the way she walked. The world they lived in forced many childhoods to end before their time, but Liliana couldn't hold back the pang of depression that breezed through her chest. Her eyes quickly darted to the other woman, this one older and accompanied by some sort of yeti-dog hybrid. Her features were swarthy and seemed more intense than many faces the hooded woman had seen around Moscow, and she felt vaguely reminded of an illustration in a book that depicted a fierce female pirate captain. Perhaps it was because of the scar through her eyebrow or the olive tones of her skin, or the smooth, confident grace that moved her feet.<br/><br/>Of course, the second man that had appeared and just as swiftly disappeared came with them, his face just as hidden as it had been when he left. With a soft<span style="font-style: italic">chunk</span>she flipped her knife nonchalantly into her half-skinned carcass, the blade landing cleanly in the cold flesh and remaining still. Calmly and with all of the tension of a wet noodle she walked to meet the returning heroes, staring at the leader of the hunters from the depths of her hood. She listened as he spoke, his words ringing with practicality and the experience of a man who knows his way through the world. Her own instinct rose in her throat like bile and she knew that she wanted to follow. If he was worried, there was probably a reason to worry; especially since he had his own little force to back him up and should be<span style="font-style: italic">less</span>worried about confrontation than any of them.<br/><br/>However her desires pulled her, she didn't hesitate. "Leaving here isn't an option right now," she responded blankly, her sentence a parallel to his own, before she belatedly added, "for me, anyway." She didn't gesture or look at the unconscious man; she knew he had seen him. They had no snow-ready vehicles (or any vehicle), not even a rickety sled or a tortoise. Even if they could catch up to her own fellow crew members in the harvesting team while hauling the dead weight of the hole-ridden man, there would be little benefit beyond the increase of sheer manpower should the source of the hunter's trepidation come to pass. Leaving didn't seem like the right thing to do, at least not to her. But nothing held anyone else back- certainly she only made the decisions for herself in this strange collection of beings. Well, herself and her piglet. He could hardly be trusted with decision-making.