Once bother beasts settled near their master, the Nomad’s wariness of both visibly decreased. Her shoulders relaxed, slipping the cuff of her furred adornment just a little through the shift and her companion too unfurled his great wings to stable himself upon her opposite shoulder. He continued to nibble on her braid in silence but never let his eyes stray from sight of the band.
“Sanctuary…” was what he sought, and as if in disbelief the woman uttered the word for herself feeling it unfamiliar on her tongue. Her reluctance to relinquish her stance across the border went unnoticed as she crossed it with minimal hesitation to survey the cart for herself. Pleading words may have tugged her heartstrings, but she could not afford to blind herself to possible danger. Carefully she walked the length of the beast-drawn cart attempting to not be as invasive as possible without falling short in her inspection. She scrutinized only what she could see, tools of trade and his personal wares. But when her eyes rested upon the injured soul lying cramped in the cart, she paused and looked toward the male expectantly.
“May I ask your name, stranger? And how you have heard of Ichika?” With injured cargo, it seemed common sense would dictate that they find the nearest territory and rest or at least neutral ground, perhaps even barter for supply or even a healer as they passed by. The act was not uncommon to the Nomads, as the traveling band often shared what they could when their need was dire; often seeking the aid of packs they had relatively fond relationships with. Perhaps this was something similar for this traveler. However sanctuary seemed a stretch to say the least. Where they in danger, she wondered. None the less she wished to appease her curiosity for this vital information before preceding the interrogation.