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Well, there it was. The first sign of denial and an attempt to cope with the pain was there, clear as day, as his jaw set and he made a very awkward, pained smile. Again she felt like she should have sharply leaned down on it even more, for that. Ayra looked up at him and lifted a brow when his leg twitched, and she rolled her eyes when he denied it. This had gone from being simply absurd to utterly ridiculous, not to mention delusional. Clearly the hawk thought he must have been dealing with someone with the intelligence and face reading skills of a brick.

When the hissing started coming, she waited for him to break and confess. But, as plans were wont to do, this particular one also went awry, and she was pushed up surprisingly quickly and probably with a bit more force than was really necessary. He sidled away like a whipped dog, left to supposedly 'deal with his own pain'.

"If you'd told me about it, I wouldn't have had to do it! And trying to hide it from me- what was that going to accomplish? Damn it, we have a priest here that can help, and you're sitting there trying to man it out? If it hurts so damn much, get it healed!" She crossed her arms, aware that her left hand now had the stickiness and familiar red sheen of blood. And as if she hadn't smelled it earlier, she certainly could now.

"And hell, Tibarn, stop bleeding in your jeans. You sure as hell don't wash them."

Tibarn growled, "Hey, just 'cause your ego's shot from being stuck in here doesn't mean the rest of us don't have some pride! I can handle a little gash, and I certainly don't want to go admitting to the whole house that I let some Maelduin with a laguz axe get the better of me!" He snorted and jumped up, crossing his arms. "Now it's bleeding worse, and it's your fault, 'cause you can't let me hang onto a little of my pride just because you haven't done anything to be proud of!"

The Hawk King flared his wings, stomping toward the fire, then seemed to forget exactly why he had stomped over there, and he stomped back. Maybe it was just to prove he didn't have to limp, although each time he put weight on that leg his body screamed in protest, and really wanted him to limp. He refused, however, on the basis that only weaklings and seriously injured people limped, neither of which he counted himself.

"I am certainly," he added huffily, "not going to waste any of our busy clergy's time with something this trivial. Doesn't even hurt anymore," he lied through his teeth, wrapping his wings around himself.

"Oh my, i'm dreadfully sorry if I was troublesome. I really don't recall anything that happened, it's quite odd." Hearing the arguing still, Fiora asked "What is it that Tibarn and Ayra are arguing about?"

At his first sentence, she stopped. The tension was palpable, the air almost icy, and she gave him a very cold glare. Ayra didn't even need to say anything- her gaze was challenge enough. She remained where she was, glowering at him, and let her gaze do this particular snap for her:

Say it again. I dare you to tell me that I haven't done anything around here. You'd better be damn glad I can't hold up a sword right now.

She did let it go for a moment. Not her gaze, but her silence. And when that mouth snapped open, her tongue danced whiplashes as the words were cut sharply from her lips.

"Oh, yes, you swore at me earlier because of some 'little gash' from an axe that would flay an ordinary laguz alive. And it's completely my fault that you refused to get it treated, and your pride's so much more important than looking like a piece of gutted, limping game. Get fixed up before you act tough!" Looking down at his wound, Ayra looked back up, scoffing openly. The time for subtlety was done, and he'd truly thrown the first stone. For once. She was going to take advantage of all her pent up frustration she'd spent indoors and mulling around cleaning all day and use it for something more constructive. Like berating him for doing something completely irrational and stupid, for one.

When he stormed off, she laughed. She resisted the urge to throw a pillow at his leg when he ran back (he'd probably tear the stuffing out of it), and merely looked down at it again, instead.

"Oho, doesn't hurt? Because bleeding wounds heal themselves now, right? Go see a damn healer. You're making a mess."

Only then did she throw three pillows- one at his face, one at his left hand... and the last at his leg. He only had two hands to catch with, after all, and if he was hurting as badly as she thought he was, there wouldn't be a whole lot of coherent thoughts running through his mind.

Alihi smiled lightly and nodded. "Yup! Just got up..." She moved over to where Soren was.
"What did I miss while I was... not awake?" She asked curiously.

"...I'm not sure," he returned somewhat hesitantly. "All I could pick out was some babble of a monster... Although that would explain the horrendous noises in the distance." Soren turned a bit toward the door. "The food party returned. Apparently, they exchanged blows with this monster. They managed to return safely with supplies as well."

He glanced at the tactician, his face a bit solemn. "What happened? You, Fiora, and Valter were on the ground before I could even open my mouth Fiora sang the galdr that I'd heard in my dream while she was unconscious. Any familiarity?"

Well that was abrupt, Fiora thought as she walked down the hallway following Soren. "Hello Alihi, are you feeling well?" Wait, what!? Fiora thought, I sang the galdr?