As Rhydian spoke of his undesire for repose, Faeline's eyes swept upwards and she let out a low scoff. There was an avid refusal to respond to his statement shown by the stiff scowl that was etched on her face.

'Fine. We can rest. But only until the storm clears.' Very kind of you. She remarked, teeth gently rasping over the unruly tangle of his pelt. 'Then we look for Morriva and Aedric. Or... at least someone who can tell us where the hell we are.' There was a small hum of acknowledgment, yet it was clear her focus was on him, not the children.

In her eyes, it'd be far better to rest against the trees and recover their energy than to seek out the two whilst exhausted and hobbling through a storm. On top of that, perhaps it was more known to her than it was to the father himself that his two children were capable, capable enough to survive on their own—that was truly the reason why Faeline harbored enough hope to be comfortable with such idleness.

They would find them, someday. But that 'someday' wouldn't come if the pair was too debilitated to properly move.

She raised her head. I think it'd do us good to find someone who knows the area, she remarked, it'd be better than wandering around blindly. Faeline eventually lifted her muzzle from Rhydian's broad withers, instead reclining against a tree and resting her chin on her forelimbs.

We'll look in the morning. She rasped. Silver eyes were already fixing to fall shut.