Kraken's not seen Whisper with her mask off, nor seen a changeling do what they do. His eyes open wide and he quirks an eyebrow.
"Bloody oath...," he says quietly, staring at the sorceress for slightly longer than is polite. Then, with a groan of effort he levers himself to his feet, using his falchion for support.
"Right, mates," he says in his normal breezy fashion. "Reckon we keep moving if the lady's okay. Midian mate," he turns to the druid and pulls a handful of pod-like vegetation from a pouch. "This here's what we call Long Corn. Reckon you could keep an eye out for it? You seem to know the Green best out of all your lot. Keeps well in the jungle, good bush tucker. Doesn't suffer from Ration Rot Moss like other stuff. Glaive mate, if the lady needs more healing maybe you can give her a little tap her with yer magic stick." He gives the warlock a sly wink, well aware of the (weak) innuendo.