The Halfling merely shrugged at Naomi's words, perhaps recognising the truth they held and unwilling to contest it. As the group sneak their way through the dense forest, he falls silent, his focus on the winding path that Thistle weaves through the undergrowth. Besides him, the black Labrador sniffs the air every so often, poised as if in search of either prey or predator, before following his petite master.
When the sun reaches its zenith and embarks on its westward trajectory, Kyle's stomach emits a low, prolonged growl, clearly audible to most of the party. Unashamedly meeting the questioning gazes his companions may throw his way, the Halfling Cleric clears his throat and approaches the head of the small column, seeking the two woodselves.
“We have been on the move for a while now, skipping second breakfast and elevnses...” He explains, the green eyes glancing up at Narnae and Thistle in full earnestness “Could we pause to have lunch at least? Just a short while.”