They have to leave Trabent and his injured behind, if they have any hope of keeping up with the roostmaster. The parting look the warden gives them is one of helplessness, in the face of advice and well-wishes. He nods to both all the same. He looks as if he might follow them too, if he could, but he can't and doesn't.

The roostmaster has a long stride, and despite having asked for their help, she's already aways down the corridor. Merrill's hail gets her to look back over her shoulder, her long nose wrinkled. It isn't precisely an expression of distaste. It's more the look of someone hearing plain speech after having spent a great deal of time alone.

"My orders come from me." A simple answer at last, and the roostmaster slows her pace a little, if only to allow them to catch up. "I am the roostmaster, aren't I. That title's got to count for something. And you can't leave. Leastways, not yet. I'm bringing you up here because I need to get the hatchlings free of this place. If rumors are true, I need that done sooner rather than later, so congratulations--" As she speeds her pace again, and they turn down another corridor-- "You're my help."