The avian head swivels sharply around and Corstine gets a narrowed, suspicious glare. His eyes fall onto the knife, the barely-visible gleam of it that he could make out with his poor night vision but some bone-deep old instinct still told him it was there.

Should've brought a fucking flashlight is what he should've fucking done.

She didn't smell like the tracks he'd been following though, now that he caught of a wift of her. And if he's honest, that knife didn't exactly inspire any overwhelming sense of terror.

"Wasn't fucking me," he utters at last, tone set firmly to caustic, still extremely suspicious. "That was a human scream."

Lantar stares her down harder, mandibles slanting.

"You seriously were gonna stab me if I weren't wearing fucking clothes?"