<div class="floatleft">(http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v181/Kittenpeeler/Three/Three.jpg)</div>Smacking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, Three started towards that trickle, only for her leftmost toe-claw to fetch up on something. "Whatzah?" she chirrups to herself, looking down. Flexing her toes, she scrapes earth away from the sack, eyes lighting up. Treasure!  suddenly she' agile and quick, and that poor sack never stood a chance. "Awww... no gold?" She pouts, looking at the mess of stuff around her<br/><br/>Well, waste not, want not, right? Shaking the tunic off, she tugged it over her chest, then off again. Those ancient, hardened laces were obviously pulled together by some creature with a very different torso shape, and it felt like wearing a box! After a few grunts and tugs, she had freed several of the laces, and adjusted the others to fit herself better.<br/><br/>That left the knife. It was trash. Just pure garbage. Still, it could put out something's eye... and hten her eye caught sight of one of those leg bones. She tossed the laces in her mouth, chewing with what spit she could muster, nearly gagging at the musty, acid taste of the aged hide. While chewing, she round the worst of the corrosion off of the knife's blade, until it was at least a sharpened spike, if not particularly bladed.<br/><br/>Needing that drink more than ever, she strode out of her alcove, sack with greaves and scraps over her back, long femur tucked under her arm. Her deft hands were busy wrapping the wet, chewed leather lacing around the knob of the leg bone, in order to fasten the dagger there as a sort of crude but brutal pick. Just in case.<br/><br/>...But maybe she'd let that rat be, it looked like too fair a fight. Damn thing was almost large enough for her to ride...<br/><br/>She stayed close to the cavern walls as she exited, more comfortable with their closeness than with the cathedral-sized open space before her... But now there were voices.<em>Strange</em>voices! Not the yappy voices of the taskmasters back at Brixlemlix, and not the paeans to the dragon-gods that that old stupid Yarkwerrka was always chanting... she pressed her lips together and hefted her makeshift weapon in one hand, the other groping about for a rock. Finding one, she approached.<br/><br/><em>Humans!</em>Three's eyes widened, and the rock dropped from her hand with a clatter - the perceptive might very well notice the noise, and very likely the pair of gold-glowing eyes peering at their gathering from the shadows. she could probably cripple the big dark one.. but that would bring a fight. And they all looked as out of sorts as she was.<br/><br/>And holy<em>shit</em>she was thirsty!<br/><br/>Her bone-dagger-pick thing was gripped tightly in both hands, and she spoke, her voice at first a high squeak, before she clears her throat to speak more normally... in a slightly less high-pitched squeak. "If you bunch of fur-bearing troglodytes think I'm your prisoner, think again! I'll use your toes for marbles!" A pause. "Otherwise, we're okay. Are you going to drink that?"<br/><br/>Winning friends and influencing people.