[ Shadowheart is well-used to being party healer, clocking the tics and tells of injury in her companions. She nearly opens her mouth to say something about Gale's wince, but finds herself immediately distracted by the chicken--hen--a sweet-looking thing, cozy in Astarion's arms.

Slowly, with a delicate arch of her brow, and the equal lift of a question at the end, ]

You named her Shadowheart.

[ She might be insulted, if it felt like a joke, but one look at Astarion's face--despite the play at long-suffering--tells her otherwise. Her lip curls, amused, gaze very pointedly holding steady even as he works to avoid it. ]

I never knew you were so fond of me, Astarion. Did she keep you company while I was away?