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Another cry peirces the air, alerting her new cadre of her presence. Locomotion was slowed to a halt as she reaches the gathering, whipcord flailing behind her flanks. Pinned thorns point foreward for a brief instant, only to fall back to their usual home on her skull. Nostrils inhale deeply, taking oxygen into her lungs, only to snort out the useless carbon dioxide. Cold voids dart about, never lingering any longer than needed on any one thing as she awaits her instructions.+ |