Amelia smiled, the jar held up in her hand. He watched her with deep dark eyes that did even hint at how he was feeling or what he thought of this entire situation. The cool morning wind blew through the fields, sweeping his long dark hair over his chest. She tired very hard not to stare. It was just that he was very much unlike anyone she knew. So exactly how did someone know where to start when it came to impressions of someone else who was completely foreign to them?

Well, perhaps not completely foreign. Her nanny had been half-Lakota, so that was a start. And she had often watched her father trade and speak with his Native American companions, so there was more foundation for her to start with. And of course she had seen many tribal parties go through their small town. They'd often stop to water their horses here and even trade for food if they needed or wanted to.

So with her small foundation of knowledge, she could build her opinion of him slowly. He didn't show much emotion outwardly, like many tribe men, but he had traveled into this area to get medicine for someone he knew. This showed he had kindness in him. And he was patient. Patient enough to wait for her to run all the way to her house and back. These were all good things. 

And with her small observations of Indian men as far as appearance went... He wasn't bad looking at all. Tall, dark, mysterious handsome... Heather would have called him all these things without hesitation. Amelia was a bit more reserved when it came to this though. She was rather reserved around all men. With her experience, they could be overbearing and jump to conclusions that were less than comfortable. So she kept her own council. Her mother always had approved, though Amelia had the sneaking suspicion that Lady Shirewood desired her eldest daughter to be more proactive about finding a suitor to make her a wife.

Blinking such uneasiness away, she smiled even though he frowned. She turned a bit red at her own stumbled explanation of her father's compass. Well, at least he knew that what she was looking for belonged to her father. That was a good start. Now, how to explain a compass...

"Oh, well, it's a..." she forgot herself and returned to sign language, since it was probably a bit easier for him. It was hard enough telling him about a foreign object, but in a different language too? That was just asking for miscommunication. 

'It is round and fits in the palm,' she signed, setting the jar in her basket so she could open her palm and draw a circle on it.

'It is harder than stone,' she signed, then added in her own language, "Metal that shines like silver."

'It forever points in on direction,' she added on in English, just in case, "It's always pointing North. Like the handle of the Little Dipper constellation always points to the North Star."

'There are white man words written into its back,' her signing got a bit odd towards the end, but she turned over her hand, drew a circle on it then patted the back. "It has words written into the metal. That is what 'engraved' means."

"We call it a 'compass'," she explained, "It helps you find your way when you're lost. I am looking for the one that belonged to my father. It was stolen when-" she stopped short, her smile faltering. "...when he died," Amelia finished a bit quietly.