Ramara just sat there as Inyata stuck her tongue out at there, not giving the child a second thought. Giving attention to a temper tantrum would only encourage another one later on. She just hoped that the Corsair would mellow out during the journey but she doubted it. The sea faring weren’t exactly known for being quiet. As she heard Derrix mention that he was a poet without any ink she perked a brow. He didn’t appear the scholarly type but looks could be deceiving. When dressed as her people Ramara looked as unassuming as any other woman her age. 

	Reaching behind her into her pack she pulled out a small ink well that she carried with her to write to her family with from time to time to let them know she was still alive. With a flick of her wrist, she let the ink well loft in a high slow arch towards the man. Whether he caught it or not was up to him. For Ramara it wasn’t an act of kindness to give the man an inkwell, but a payment of debt since it had been the splintered wood of the chandelier she let loose that caused the loss of property. Thankfully she had another in her pack or she would not have been so generous. 

	Ramara still had not moved an inch from her initial resting place, only the single hand from one stone figure sitting in the chair moved. Resting her hand back in her lap she looked at Ishmael as he offered them food, drink and respite for the time.  As the squire looked at her she spoke only two words. “Wine. Fruit.” Sitting there in silence after that she waited for her order to arrive and when it did simply sat there not touching it for a time. Listening to the paladin make clearly aware that it was not her or any of the others present job to protect him.

	Ishmael was right, it wasn’t. A squire had to learn to defend himself if he ever wished to be something more. Yet, in a way Ishmael was wrong. In a battle, you watched the backs of those you fought with. So at least in part she would have to make sure Daniel didn’t die within the first five seconds of the first real battle. After that he was on his own if he didn’t prove himself useful. Serving food and drink when it could be obtained with a simple call out to the tavern wench was not useful, just convenient.  Once the thought passed her mind she picked up her goblet and took a small sip before placing it back down.