It was help, (she says, because she knows him, and it was certainly not nothing. She's trying to pat the errant fur off of her leathers; the offer of Caleb's scarf is helpful, if only to wipe her face on.

... Though, privately, the scarf does not really smell any better than the animals did.)

I'm fine, (she confirms, and passes it back,) they aren't aggressive. At least, I don't think they are.

(Caleb is watching them go; Yasha does too for a moment, and realises that she should care about that, and should go off to get them back. She sighs, her shoulders slumping.) Would you help me gather them back here? I was trying to make a fence, but I found myself surrounded. You know.