The bull follows the mantis a good four or five steps after it begins retreating following Turilia’s blow to the beast, evidently intent on making certain that it doesn’t survive to make it back to the cultist’s base of operations.  He quickly abandons that idea for more practical reasons:  He’s not well suited to barging through the woods in pursuit; he’s still far from being in ideal shape following his tussle with the cheetah (who, granted, was on his way from bad shape to shapelessness); and finally, doubts the insect would be capable of relating the battle to anyone, anyway.  True, its injuries might be a clue, but it would still have to be going toward the camp, and he doesn’t know that it is.<br/>Turilia, for her part, is lucky Gorun<span style="font-style: italic">did</span>take a few steps after the insect.  If he’d been close to her once it was obvious that they were out of immediate danger, he can’t say the he would have bothered resisting the impulse to punch her in the face.  He settles for glaring back at her over his shoulder before heading toward the group clustering around fallen female cultist.  “That might have gone better if we’d had the chance to prepare ourselves better beforehand,” he says, making sure the brash woman can hear him but not raising his voice unduly.  The bull reaches for his second curative potion but stops when he sees Albali producing a wand of some sort.  He holds up a finger to indicate a pause, closing his eyes and taking a pair of seconds to willfully suppress his natural resistance to magic, then nods once.  The bull is relieved almost as much by how much better he feels afterward as by the fact that the wand seems less… insistent, for want of a better word, than her own magic, and he grunts a vague syllable of thanks.<br/>“What do we do with<span style="font-style: italic">that</span>, now?” he grunts, nodding in the cultist’s direction.  He’s not at all sure he wants to get any closer to her than he already is.