At this point, a white-haired youth speaks up from his position on the ground, where he's been seated for most of the conversation. Of perhaps greater note is the creature huddled beside him; a small, greenish yellow dragon, around the size of a wolf. Her head has been resting quietly in his lap, but when he speaks, she looks up to regard them all with piercing green eyes.

"Well, there's always the scarecrows," Aro says, mildly. "They're usually made of straw. Not to mention all the other bodies of the things that keep trying to kill us. Sorry, I know that's all quite morbid, but I'm not sure I much like leaving them here where they lie. We need a fire, and they need a funeral."

He shrugs, and the dragon lets out a discontented little rumble. Aro puts a steadying hand on her neck.