The noises that came from the other room were the sort of sounds she expected to hear in the heat of hunt or battle - the slow, wet slicing, the gasps and agonized cries, the sizzling and the meaty thuds - not in the quieter aftermath, in the back room of a simple shop. They were made all the more horrid for being so out of place, and her eyes slide toward the doorway, which boasted the orange glow of the open kiln, as her compatriot spoke of the Reaver.<br/><br/>"A boat?" she queried, weight shifting from one knee to the other. "You are certain? You know what it is they plan?"