Foolishly enough, she'd already given him a perfect moment to strike - or more than one - while forming her over-cooked sentences, and instead of pouncing, the man had returned her language with equanimity. Caspa was almost at ease: she lowered her shard of glass, hand trembling a little, perhaps with relief or the strain of not clasping too tightly upon the sharp edges. She would have to sand those down. Did she believe him to be out to cause harm? "There are few things I truly believe, learned warrior," she answered tautly, "it is a strong word to use. But I do not think it likely you would quibble so much if you were here for flesh or blood." An uneasy truce seemed to be forming, the two dogs - with traits from opposite ends of the globe, but origins both in a tribal society - backing away to form a suspicious stalemate. "I promised you a story, so here." She kept moving, not wishing to be off her guard for too long. Her slow movement circled her around to his left, her dark eyes flicking over him, marking his weapons, his tattoos. He had a story too - she could tell. "I am from a pack named Cour des Miracles. We have many allies in these lands. When a vicious pack further east took hostages from among them, we moved to set them free. We were repaid for our good deed by a raid, which left innocent wolves dead. We are a peacekeeping land, but there are limits to the good of peace. So, there is war." A story - and in some small corner of Caspa's mind, perhaps a call to arms. They needed all the allies they could get.
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