Caspa looked from the ambiguous face of Hadley to the back of Amy's disapproving head, one dark brow raising, the other slanting quizzically - was she caught in the middle of a domestic conflict at the stage of throwing spiteful remarks, or was that statement sincere? The woman was acting more and more abruptly, and there was also something wrong in the face of the male and his fearful retreat. It was only now Caspa realised how fresh his hurts smelled, and how deliberate they looked: no brutish marauder attack had made those cuts and slow-healing scabbing. An idea was starting to form in her mind and she wasn't sure if she liked the look of it. She had to stall, though. "Indeed? I know some who would love to say that about their mates but do not dare." She wondered if Amy would take this as a compliment, or be offended by Caspa's slight assumption. As of now, she was basically fishing for conformation. Amy's question allowed her still more opportunity to delay the inevitable conclusion. "It's name is Cour des Miracles. We are an organised clan of cavaliers and courtiers." She guessed the next line of inquiry would regard their desire for supplies, but she was no longer sure that the woman before her was someone she was willing or morally able to deal with.
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