Talathel noticed the cat slip out of the room. He had not heard the conversation that he had with his master (and Talathel figured that Tigrisclawu was the type of cat to dislike the term "master". Cats that can talk always seem to have this heir of superiority) but given that the talk was about rats, the elf figured that it must have something to do with food.
"This will obviously take a lot of oil, once we get to that stage. With the city in disarray, will those supplies be available. And, if they are, will we be able to purchase them without drawing unneeded suspicion upon ourselves?" Talathel asked. This is a time of disaster and surely the oil can be used for better things than giving some rats a hellish end.
Talathel would admit that lighting the sewers ablaze was safer than going down and directly attacking the wererats. But, doing do discreetly seemed harder than the group made it out to be.
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