Claws gnarl against dying grass at Harst's initial response, his clipped grin giving Serpent the little she needs in order to understand his jest in its entirety. Her tail rests against the ground as she tries to settle into a seated position, grateful that she has not yet lost her sense of balance. "Watch out, Karst. Come new leaf, I'll be hunting your tail out of the forest," a return poke, with a nod for his following comment. She ignores how the woodland withers without promise of regrowth, even should the seasons shift. It is not her business, not when she grows tiny lives. Her prioties are elsewhere.
Hum provides her a healthy meal and she returns him with a wide grin, her once settled tail now lashing. "Well, thank you. I'll owe you somethin' better, once I'm back on my legs." Serpent makes the promise with little care if its true or not. Once she's able to move, she'll be darting amongst the undergrowth with no reprieve; for when those days come, she will have little mouths to feed. She will not have a choice. Offering the kind tom a chance at catch of her own... is something she can do, regardless if she can hold to it. His following comment, however, earns him a scornful glance, and the mouse is trapped beneath a clawed paw.
Sable tries to diffuse the spark between them, and Serpent holds her tongue as he speaks. Upset still plagues her sharp features as she mutters a quiet, "Nothing to do about it now." Nothing to do about it ever, she decides in silence. If Hawthorne wished her to bear children every day of the rest of their lives, then she would give him hundreds regardless of the weather. Luckily, he respects her more than that. She tapers her glower to properly address Sable with a slight incline of her head, offering him a, "If not him, then my brother is hunting the foliage as if it's prey itself. I'm drowning in squirrel pelts, really," she commiserates in her wealth, as if being well cared for is a tale of woe.
