Deep within the wilds of L'Hatzif, the air is crawling with insects and a type of humidity found nowhere within the frost of Rekes. The unfamiliar, sprawling jungle trills with a multitude of unseen creatures, cacophonic bird cries shaking the very branches that droop and pool up above within the canopies. Stryx has taken point, ambling her way through the undergrowth without as much as a peep-- unusual for her, given her inclination to destroy most of what often stands between her and her target. Today though, they're on the prowl. And of everyone to assist-- Lychee and Parsnip, two Tark'ee who found their way to Ororest several months back-- are pathing their own way through both the murky waters and wild fernery on either side of Stryx.

Now, none of them have much experience with this sort of thing, per say, but of everyone somewhat qualified… They were about the best chance those 'Royals' had at getting a good meal.

Funny how that works. The big birds with literal wings couldn't do their own hunting? They cleared the way through the ruins of the lab, so why couldn't they fend for themselves now?

"Psst," Parsnip's voice rises up from the greenery, though Stryx can barely see her with how well she's managed to wiggle her way beneath the brambles and overlapping root systems to her right, her gray coat camouflage by a smattering of derelict rocks that seem out of place amongst the lush jungle floor. "I think I smell somethin' strange up ahead."

Lychee's smooth beak clicks, and Stryx spots her brilliant white hide poke up from the less grand, glorified swamp water she's been wading through. "Strange, and meaty." There's an odd sort of delight present on her face, and her often wayward, distant eyes sparkle with danger that makes the back of Stryx's neck feel uncomfortably hot.

"Don't think I'll be much help," Stryx murmurs, careful to keep her voice low despite the urge to grumble and swear at yet another goose chase they've been sent on. "Got no weapons, claws are dull, ain't exactly built for this place." She gestures to the trees, and finally Parsnip's head pops out of the brush long enough to raise both eyebrows at her before letting loose a curt, impolite laugh at her expense.

"Coulda fooled me with the stories Coriander was telling us about your behavior in the pipelines." Parsnip's beak stretches into a smug grin as Lychee huffs, and Stryx can pick up on the laughter in her voice too which makes her nape flare up as her teeth do bare for the slightest of moments.

"As I was saying," Stryx hisses, resisting the urge to bulldoze away from the two Tark'ee, "you two should go on ahead. Track it down, subdue it, and if you absolutely need my help--"

"You'll be right behind us?" Lychee questions, and Stryx can't decide if it's hopeful or tinged with disbelief. Parsnip stands still too, and Stryx feels a very unpleasant weight on her shoulders regarding what the right call would be.

There's a chance she'll fall behind with how unpredictable the jungle is to someone like her. She's used to Rekes and the craggy mountain sides layered with snow and small, barely budding grasses. But here it's swelteringly hot, filled to the brim with every sort of sickly-sweet smell that turns her stomach inside out. Rotting fruit, fruit flies feeding on said fruit, other creatures and plants eating those-- the food chain here disgusts her, and she knows deep down she won't be able to bring herself to contribute to it.

"Sure." The lie is so thick on her tongue she can hardly get it out. But both Lychee and Parsnip seem soothed by this, and Stryx can see the gears turning in their head on how to handle the rest. The poor Nukap, whether by her hands or their claws, will be found. She just hopes she doesn't need to get involved more than she already is.