Duncan, you pause by the blind beggar and press the rations and shin into her hands. The tentacles reach down and feel them, then reach up to feel your face. "Thank you," she whispers. "For your kindness, thank you." She inscribes a faint sigil on your face, a sort of flower, maybe, or the sun, though when you touch it no color comes off on your fingers.
Once back inside the warmth of the Scavenger's Art, the others are all there, warming up after their venture outside. Most of them, at any rate. Duncan, you do spy the wounded woman who spoke to you earlier, and for some wine and food she's willing to talk to you about the peculiarities of the Sheer.
"Like I was saying to the big man, there's a zone in the Sheer, straight from one wall to the other far as we could tell, warm as summer. No snow, plants growing all over the place. Big plants too, with big leaves. And we're talking miles and miles across. You maybe could get across it in less than a day, but the plants are starting to grow up in the roadway, and it's making it harder to travel. It's pretty to look at but... Once darkness falls, we had broken hounds attacking our camps in packs, and abhumans sniping from the fringes. We had to get into a defensive square just to keep the wagons and aneens from getting dragged off, and they didn't break off until we'd taken down nearly a dozen hounds." She shudders and takes a deep drink. "They wouldn't stop howling either. I couldn't sleep for days."