The caution over trusting the dark one was met with a short nod of her head. Acceptance. "I find it difficult not to be drawn to him. He reeks of death and that speaks to something within me. Perhaps that is It's influence, for It seems to favor him," she admitted. "Sometimes, our souls mingle so closely that it is difficult to separate one from the other." Which was probably something of a troublesome admission for the seamstress. She already feared for Noura and that was unlikely to help ease her mind. "His alliances seem to shift on the wind. It seems to trust him, but how can one trust a man who shifts so readily?" Whelp was uncertain if she could ignore his allure, however. His ambition, his fearlessness - they drew It's attention like moth to flame.
Whenever Gloria turned her head, looking a little green, the wildling would flash her a grin. Amused at her disgust. "Your stitches may be pretty, but you barely have the stomach for this task, Gloria," she teased. Meanwhile, the woman never so much as flinched as she watched the younger woman draw the wound closed neatly. Fascinated with the lurid task. Pain was apparently not something that troubled her much.
A scowl fixed upon her features as Gloria warned her about Catch once more. "I will not hide from him if not convenient. If he attacks me, I will be forced to harm him in turn," she retorted, with brisk, clipped words. The wildling seemed not to like cowering away from the man who had claimed the fascination of her friends. More importantly, It did not enjoy hiding from one It felt was beneath It's attention. It did not have the patience to wade through Catch's interactions, seeking the morsel of enlightenment the others seemed to discover. Her jaw set, mulish, but she gave a short nod. "I make no promises, but I will do my best, Gloria, and that is all." Arms crossed in front of her chest childishly, tugging lightly on the sutures just before Gloria finished her knots. She would take the penance for her actions.
Startled, the whelp glanced over her shoulder as Gloria requested the skull. There was a brief moment of hesitation and then a short nod. "You shall have her." The woman rose, seeking to guide the other towards her room where Beatrice was perched upon a nightstand. Steps were slow and somber, like one approaching the gallows. She found, with a small measure of surprise, that she would miss the skull. Door to her room was nudged ajar and she slipped inside, only to return with the runed skull. It was offered with all of the importance of a beloved child. Her eyes were a little sad as she offered it to her friend.