She did not complete the turn, ending on a simple semi-circle - just enough to view him from all angles - then turning and retracing her slow tread. She did not know where her new found confidence came from, for she was still as light and insubstantial as a wolf-sized feather; but now she had a strange sense that her strength had been there all along, and lay in places other than muscle and limbs. She could pinpoint the spot behind his ear, for instance, and hit it with a poison-dart no bigger than a needle. She eyed the place dispassionately, but such a step would not be necessary today. Her arc continued, leaving her off to his side, vision resting on the various brands that littered his leftmost flank - scars, tattoos and rings - marks? Or medals? The intention was unclear.
His words were equally dispassionate. He was clearly not looking for a fight - perhaps any good warrior avoided battle wherever possible. She was disappointed by this, though. She had been hoping for tones of outrage, and a show of solidarity with her wronged people, if not an outright pledge to help. The husky seemed to speak from experience, but his words were non-committal regarding the pain of loss. "It is a hurt best shared," she said dangerously in those low tones that belied her form. She - much more naturally a scholar than a battler - would up the ante, speaking words of threat against the unnamed enemy, trying to rile the weapon-bearing wanderer into more of a warlike mindset. "You have seen battle, then..." She needed a name to fill the gap, but none had been spoken. "...I am Caspa, by the way," she finished lamely.
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