Ryssa was considering slipping off to find a shadowy spot to doze, for she slept lightly, when Neriad approached her. Shape blue eyes watch the stick sail her way as a hand caught it easily. As the man backed off and took a stance for fighting with the damnable captain noting he'd rather neither of them died, Ryssa was tempted to bonk him on the head with the stick. With a reluctant sigh, 'he' uncooked from the sand and dusted the sparse grains from his hands with a finance at the warrior who was asking for a fight. Idiot.

Tempting as it was to wait him out, which was something she could do as Ryssa was a very patient person, it wasn't in the best interest if she wanted the rest if the group to leave her alone. She could already hear the damned captain's mocking voice as he accused her, or rather Rys, of being a moody sore spot. Not that she wasnt... But he did not need to put it like that! Shifting her stance, the supposed man didn't bother with taunts or games. Rushing Neriad as their stick came up to strike at the foreigner's middle area. Ready to whirl the stick up to block the return blow, the whirl back with a hand freeing itself to throw sand into the man's face. Rys didn't fight fair or for fun. He fought to survive and reach Egypt after all.