While Owen was busy using a stone knife to process the meat of the Iron-Horned beast hunted last night, the atmosphere in the cave was silent to the point of suffocation. Rowan tried to break this scary silence: "Roast this meat; I don't want to eat soup today, I'm sick of it."
Owen stole a very quick glance at Omegina, his hands still deftly cutting the meat into even, square pieces. He did not answer, simply taking a few sharpened branches and skewering the pieces of bright red Iron-Horned beast meat onto them.
Rowan sat there watching his skilled movements; Owen's face still maintained a calm, cold look without a ripple of emotion, making it impossible for him to guess the true thoughts in Owen's head.
Seeing that Owen stubbornly ignored him, he also had his pride and didn't want to humiliate himself further. He sighed, stood up, and went to the corner of the cave to gather some dry branches to start a fire.
