[Gaze flickering to Crow, Lys betrays the instinctive run of her thoughts pretty much immediately: he looks kinda like a chicken but also like a cat, two things she considers particularly delicious when roasted and seasoned just right. Her stomach rumbles again at the thought, but somehow she manages to act relatively normal: no licking of her hips, no sudden lapse into unsightly drooling. Instead she picks at her wilted sprig of broccoli, turning it over and over again in her fingers.]

I, uh...I get that there's not much to go around, but that seems like an awful lot to ask of somebody. [Farm living had taught her that animals were either useful or edible, but shared hunger didn't necessarily entitle one to a stranger's chicken-cat.] Does he have a name?