Putting a hand to her head, the girl almost shook her head to clear it, but thought better of it at the last moment.  Her lip was split, and her skirt was now covered in streaks of mud.  She’d been a bit frightened initially, but that faded and was replaced by pain and wary curiosity.  “Oww,” she moaned, grimacing at her injuries.  “I’m dizzy.”  She blinked a couple times to focus, and took a better look at the man sitting across the way.  He was intimidating, all dressed in black, but nothing seemed to say she should be afraid of him.  Moving carefully, Amuné got to her feet and retrieved her bag.  The fruit inside was smushed beyond recovery.  “Aww, they’re wrecked!” she exclaimed softly, face turning into a pout.  Only then did she look at the man again, thoughtful.

“I was surprised,” she said at last, clasping her hands in front of her and dropping her gaze a bit.  “And maybe a little scared, and a lot confused.”  The girl peeked at him through her lashes.  Something about him was familiar.  The sound of his voice and the way he formed his words was very distinct, but she couldn’t place it.  The mask was interesting, and very unusual, but she could see little of the man himself, beyond his general shape.

Abruptly she sucked in a sharp breath in a soft gasp, looking straight at him with her eyes wide, one hand flying to her mouth.  “You!  From the thing, with the cake!  The...the...”  Amuné fumbled for the right word before hitting upon it.  “The dance, the Masquerade, I remember you!  ...It /is/ you, isn’t it?”  She took a couple steps closer, tilting her head as she inspected his mask.  “The skull is not the same,” the girl observed.  “But it’s similar.”  She ventured a small smile at the man.  “Thank you.  For helping, I mean.”