Ridahne scoffed, a hardly delicate sound. She had the body type of a dancer, of a thin, elegant, graceful woman. And she was thin, and in some ways graceful. But her eyes proved she was no dancer, and the thick scars on her hands showed that she was no stranger to blades. Instead of being soft, her hands were calloused and adept, her arms slender but defined in muscle, and she had a resolve like stone. No, Ridahne was not delicate.  "Maybe you aren't now. But you were. And if you weren't drunk, then I don't care to know what kind of drug you were high on. Your problem, not mine." She hadn't considered that he was severely injured--he didn't show any immediate signs--or else she would have tried to give him some medical aid. She was no doctor, but she did know a few things.

"Whatever you were on, I suggest you kick the habit. I'll bet you have er..." She flung her hands, searching for the right word. At a loss at first, she tried her native tongue, hoping that might jog her memory a bit. "[i]Tespah'jhi[/i]," she said. "Stomach blood." When she learned English, she never really was taught medical terms like 'ulcer'. Ridahne rose, taking the sun-bleached hose with her, and moved to stand over him; she really was quite tall. Instead of asking for him to hold out the cup, she just reached out her hand and hooked two fingers over his wrist and pulled it towards her. The move was not forceful but instead was natural, like she had no problem grabbing strange people's wrists, like she was supposed to. With a pull of the squeaky nozzle, she filled the cup again. Ridahne returned to her sitting place. "Drink."

If she had to make a guess, the man seemed a bit nervous. Or maybe jumpy, like he was waiting for something to happen. She didn't fully know and wasn't about to care until he asked about his things, guessing rather correctly that she had a hand in relieving him of them. He hadn't been aware of himself for very long and already he was concerned with his things. Beyond where he was, who she was, or what had happened to him. Ridahne knew that she only  thought like that about things if they were very important to her, and though she could understand why someone might miss a weapon, she wondered about the little case she found. What was in it that was so important? And just how far would he go to get it back?

Ridahne seemed unmoved, simply tilting her head softly. "I'm not sure I understand what you mean." Her tone was innocent, but her eyes, those amber eyes, were very knowing. They were testing him, watching him, studying him. This, she made no effort to hide. Though she'd stashed her sword away safely, she always had her knife on hand, hidden underneath her loose tank top. Though she didn't know his fighting ability, she knew she'd lifted most, if not all, of his weapons from him and that he was not in prime condition. That alone was enough to give her confidence that if things got ugly, she had a strong chance of coming out the victor. Still, she liked feeling the weight of the metal weapon pressed against the small of her back, the wear-polished holster that had now conformed perfectly to her body. It was security, a backup.