A pack's treasure might be in its members, but Caspa's opinion of treasure leaned more towards practical solidity. Walls, land, food, tools, she thought these kinds of things worthy. Looking at Strel, she could not begin to imagine the rest of his wardrobe - the clothes he wore were foreign looking to her and yet she could appreciate their style. Perhaps, they were not entirely practical, but when they looked so beautiful, she supposed there was no need. He was a creature she could hardly dare to imagine being. She imagined he dressed simply according to his taste, but her own garb was rigorously simple. She did not allow herself any small luxury, even to wear a garment that was not entirely necessary. The pendant was a badge of belief, the coat for warmth, and she owned no other clothes. They were like a spider and a butterfly, she thought, in superficial terms at least. Her long nose crinkled at the strange thought, and at the myriad of ways the analogy didn't hold up. Not least as she was unlikely to catch him in any web any time soon, with her unimpressive lack of couture and her plain-severe face, that scowled back at her out of any mirror she came across. It was her attention that was caught, and when he asked her up to his room, the self-possessed girl was taken aback, the butterfly no longer in the shape of the wolf in front of her but fluttering in her stomach. She was utterly determined not to show it. How ridiculous, she barely knew him. It had simply been too long since she'd spent time with others, she was nervous about her lack of social graces, and that was all. "I would be delighted to see, and drink, your treasures." Her answer was calm, and she pressed the bottle back into his hand with confidence before leading towards the door, "Here, have one for the road... well, the staircase, at least." She assumed that 'up' meant climbing that sweeping stairwell, which handily also led to her own eventual destination, so neither of them would be out of their way by much.
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