The fallen druid bears up under Xarithe's continued questioning quite well, holding his gaze with immobile eyes. Even when he gives the druid a lick, she flinches but slightly. Her face tastes... interesting, is the only applicable word; there's the usual flavors of flesh and sweat, but under it there's an almost smoky aftertaste to her that Xarithe's never seen before, though many of the others (and, as she quickly makes do with the last remaining cheetah, Eiyre as well) would recognize it as a stronger form of the strange taste their respective meals carried with them. None of them seem to be affected by it, so perhaps this one wouldn't either. Still, the flavor lingers on Xarithe's tongue even as he pulls back. Continuing to menace the bound cultist, she stares sightlessly with tight-lipped mouth as Xarithe engulfs her head, suckling on her and giving her a good long feel of how the other druid's body feels around hers. For the first time, she starts to react; she shudders at Xarithe's embrace, twitching against her restraints fitfully as he gives her the deepest kiss he can. Sira hisses in profound discontent, mirroring Albali's reaction, but such reactions don't balk the man. The smoky taste to her flesh grows a little stronger, and then fades... no, he simply grows accustomed to it, noting it as merely another note in his foe's overall flavor profile. It gives her a bit of extra body to eh taste, actually a rather... compelling sensation. Not without regret he pulls away, leaving the cultist blinking and breathing rapidly; her chest heaves as he delivers his parting taunt. "You can't," she says in a rushed, clipped tone. Though her dark flesh shows no rush of blood, she nevertheless seems flushed either with desire or fear;<span style="font-style: italic">some</span>emotion strains her voice. "You can't. Unless you eat a god." She gulps. "Best part of me is already with Him. You would get the scraps." And then Xarithe is on his way away, finding an excellent little depression in the ground with thick bushes to screen himself and the fairy from prying eyes for her to be able to get herself back to a slimmer, more combat-ready physique before they get back on the road. Others, lacking Ambrosia's energetic stomach, also begin to feel their meals breaking down completely inside them.<br/><br/>Gorun and Albali step up as Xarithe leaves, his saliva still glistening on the cultist's neck and collarbone. Albali does more than step up, putting her weight on the druid's stomach as she grunts in pain at the blow. She tenses under Albali's knee as the threats intensify, and she retorts, "My name is dead. I failed, because I did not allow my Master's gift to help me as much as it should have. The part of me he already took will live on, and my penance is that the rest of me will never join it. Whatever you do with this part of me is little more punishment than that-" she jerks away from the scythe's tip, baring her fangs in a grimace. "You think-" she pants, "-we want to kill them? We want- to raise them-<span style="font-style: italic">correctly.</span>" She continues trying to strain backwards, away from the blade as it traces out unfamiliar patterns on her flesh, but the ropes and Albali won't allow her much freedom. "Won't harm them- unless all is lost- last resort. Not much guards- they're not much threat- you'll never get to them, though, under- priestess's chambers- stairs-" She hisses at a particularly deep touch. "Only priestess knows who the believer is that told us of your comings and goings. This one did not need to know."