The Initiate stalks low toward the watering hole- as low as one of his stature really can- eyeing some possible prey of his own. They moved slow, lurching and likely wounded. If he was lucky, they'd be of the living after-all and he could indulge in proper rite by blood, but he had a feeling they weren't-- the problem with keeping corpses on a beach was that they too often came back. Regardless, one way or another, he wouldn't be leaving empty handed.

He's discarded the shoes they forced on him, clawed toes much more apt for grip and running on the sand, even hot as it is. He hasn't torn his suit apart entirely, but there are little rips at the joints to allow for easier movement.

He's half-expecting the Pyrope to bail on the plan, even though he was certain they could take these two on, and had stressed as much. But so far at least, she was here.

"GOAL AIN'T EVEN TO CULL, BUT COLLECT. Last chance, sister, or loose out," He mutters. And then he starts forward.