Dove's eyes flash between Ahiru and Joe, still wild and dark. On her arms, the black feathers have risen slightly, rather like anxious goosebumps; her fingers go to them, pressing them back towards the skin. She rises slowly, without assistance, still measuring them both.

It's hard to erase that snapshot of Ahiru in her mind -- that brief moment of horror -- even though it's been replaced by obvious worry, concern.

. . . Still. The evidence that Joe is leading the creature away can't be denied.

"'M okay." Her voice is quiet to Ahiru, and her arms still, though her hands remain in an uncomfortable cross, covering much of her forearms. "Thank you."

There are definite bruises, though, and scrapes where she rammed into the wall, and her head won't quite stop pounding.

To Joe, raising her voice, "Don't kill it, if you can!" After all, a creature like that, damaged or not, will likely be good money to SERO.

Another glance to Ahiru, and she begins to clamber over the damp boxes and other refuse, wobbling slightly, hoping to take charge of the creature herself.

Meanwhile, the Icarus Winged feints, managing to suck its innards back into the maw of its underside. This particular one seems to have been through some life; it is marked with scars of previous battles. It tilts its head to eye Joe sideways with an over-bright eye, pausing, sucking the last bit in like a piece of spaghetti . . .

Then abruptly twists like a gymnast on parallel bars, exposing its underside as it spews its intestines over Joe, hoping to entangle him in the mass.