Amalia, too, stiffens against not-man, defensiveness on behalf of her friend rising hot within her veins. Bristling, literally, with leopard fur growing on her shoulders and neck, the baker tries not to snarl her displeasure as her eyes grow cat-like and her teeth lengthen to fangs. She lets her hand flex and extend, touching Ronin's fingers in gentle solidarity as the attention of the voice falls onto her. Defenses, lies, and cries of hypocrisy: the girl's ears flatten, her tail lashing in rage.
But she does not reply, not to that. Instead she tilts her head defiantly, dark eyes hard as onyx, steely flint in the eerie light. "What are you doing to the woods?" she asks instead, looking at the orb unhappily. "Why are you killing it?" Haven't you done enough?
