"K'piru." The Tia dropped his hand from his face, letting it smack against his thigh. The action was simple, harmless, but it felt violent. It twisted something inside his chest. He could feel emotion, something other than callousness or guilt, slithering up his throat. It tasted like burnt meat covered in too much Ul'dahn spice. His mouth felt like he'd been licking stones.
"There's no food or water missing," K'ile felt his ears lay down on his head like bodies falling, exhausted, among the dunes. "If she's in the tribe she hasn't eaten or had anything to drink in days. There are no signs of traps in the desert, and there's nothing filling to scavenge this time of year. She's not in the camp, and she's not near the camp. Unless Azeyma has given her shelter out where we know there is no shelter to be had..."
"There's no food or water missing," K'ile felt his ears lay down on his head like bodies falling, exhausted, among the dunes. "If she's in the tribe she hasn't eaten or had anything to drink in days. There are no signs of traps in the desert, and there's nothing filling to scavenge this time of year. She's not in the camp, and she's not near the camp. Unless Azeyma has given her shelter out where we know there is no shelter to be had..."
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