Illiiya Jaelrae

Illiiya was slower to rise than Ithelus. A faint, gloomy ennui tinging her motions as she rose and dressed herself for the day. She had slept poorly, visions of Lothar's last moments flitting through her head... or what she imagined they were, at least. She spent an extra moment or two to check her wounds beneath the makeshift bandages Pieter had provided her, and found that stretching her arms was still fair too painful. Instead she followed Ithelus out to the front door, arriving in time to see him gather a large pot from a human child.

Food? From whom? She asked the moment the smell of it's contents reached her, I'm wary of where our meals come from... after those pies.