[It's the meows that catch Talia's attention, but it's the little girl who keeps it. She can't be more than-- god, what, ten? Twelve? Too young for this, and Talia's mouth curls in disgust.
Quiet as the grave, she pads over. She makes a fearful sight, weapons strapped to her sides, her arms, but her voice is gentle as she crouches down next to Prim and speaks.]
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Quiet as the grave, she pads over. She makes a fearful sight, weapons strapped to her sides, her arms, but her voice is gentle as she crouches down next to Prim and speaks.]
I can find some milk, if you'd like.