Milyausa' eyes widened even as the mead rolled down her throat, and she lowered the cup which had been fashioned from some kind of horn rather quickly, her eyes seeking Gautirr's. He shook his head and Mil nodded ever so slightly. It wasn't their concern, it wasn't their village, and in all likelihood it was simply children being children.<br/><br/>Milyausha waited, watching several of the northfolk enter the longhouse, muttering things, some of which she could not understand. Those who entered looked troubled, and the woman turned her eyes to Gautirr again. He was the oldest of their group, the one the others looked to for guidance, and whom Milyausha had come to trust over the past few weeks. Herself, she would have left to investigate, but she trusted him and his knowledge of his folk more than her own curiosity.<br/>