The herbs tasted like sea salt and spice, yet its texture reminded her of thick, spongy moss. Kerrigan grinded her teeth awkwardly as she tried to break it down to digest. It hardly helped that both Undilla, Lotus, and a third unannounced Siren watched with intense, quizzical looks. The third Siren possessed an aura less unsettling than the elders at their side. They were smaller but incredibly toned nonetheless, and unlike Undilla and Lotus, they seemed free of wounds and scars. Their eyes were a bright, cat-like yellow, their skin brown, and their hair a faint gold colour, hacked short where it had grown out on top, but shaved to stubble at the back and above the ears. This stubble was dark, almost black, in comparison.

Can Siren’s even dye their hair? Do you think that's her natural colour?

Really? Is that appropriate at this time?

You're seeing what I'm seeing, I know you thought it too.

“This is, um,” Kerrigan said through a mouthful. “Hard to chew.”

This must be giving them so much faith in us, Po quipped as Undilla and the third Siren exchanged looks. Lotus wore a hardened expression that was undoubtedly frustration. 

The moss-like plant took two strenuous gulps to work down her throat. Lotus, as it turned out, was deemed as some kind of ocean-based alchemist, and had said the herbs would grant Kerrigan energy for the long swim ahead. Kerrigan coughed into her hand. Her breath wheezed momentarily.

“By the way -” Kerrigan paused to cough into her hand once more. She aimed the same hand at the unannounced Siren. “Since, you know, as we're all under the same watch of the endearing Hunt, as brethren so to speak, who are you?”

Undilla inhaled sharply. Their back uncurled and the muscle in their throat pulled taut. They spoke first: “This is Amal, but your focus should really be on the task at hand.”

“Please,” Amal softly interposed, resting their hand on Undilla’s arm. Kerrigan looked at the point of contact. They’re partners.

Why? Because they so much as breathed beside each other?

I can just tell.

Right, of course. And you base this knowledge on, what, your overflowing chronicles of charming relationships?

Low blow.

“My primary role is to tend to wounds," Amal said. "Besides my elders, I have tended to this clan for many years." Kerrigan noted first and foremost the way in which Amal spoke. It lacked the brash and fragmented way in which Undilla and the other Sirens orchestrated language. It was calm, poised, and not so slick with the accent so prominent among the others. Then she mulled on her choice of words: 'this clan'. It seemed odd Amal would not refer to it as 'our clan' or even 'my clan'.

I'd bet on Amal once being an outsider.

Sure seems that way. If that is so, I wonder how difficult it was for the elders to permit them.

Unless it was Undilla's call.

Ooph. Siren drama.

"Now, I'm sure you wish not to be referred to as Wy’khiyen. What may we call you?” Amal extended a hand and, after a moment of hesitation, Kerrigan took it, pressing her marked palm against their skin. From her peripheral vision she sensed Undilla flinching, staring pointedly with her stark blue-grey eyes at their clasped hands.

Oh look you made her jealous.

"Kerrigan."

Undilla just fears the mark.

“I sincerely hope,” Amal continued, “that you, Kerrigan, can trust us, despite your somewhat cruel introduction to the clan,” she looked at Undilla and Lotus. “And as you help us, we can help you. That, even in some small way, we can make life difficult for the Hunt.”