Ridahne studied Mitaja, watching the way the cat leaned into the human's hands. Usually she was only like that with her or Hadian, and perhaps with Ajoran too. There was something to this girl. She might doubt any significance that she had, but Mitaja knew, Talbot knew, Ridahne knew. And unfortunately Mark had too. She really did hate him. The elf shrugged and gave an easy smile--something that didn't come out unless she was in good company. She looked less dangerous when she smiled like that, and part of why she did intimidate people was that she was often aloof and closed off with most people. That and the ever-present blades she wore. "If it makes you feel better, Mitaja did not tell me anything. I had to guess on my own. But yes..." she sighed as if realizing the task she had ahead of her as this girl's protector. "We will have to be wary of people's pets and things. But Mitaja and Talbot will be your protectors there. They know their own kind better than we do and they will defend you. Talbot already has." 

If it was at all ever possible for Ridahne the elf-warrior to look petulant, she did then as she looked back up at the sky. "I was afraid of that..." she mumbled. "I hate the rain...well then," she sighed, raising her hands up and letting them slap against her thighs. "I suppose we should get as much road behind us as we can before we have to set up camp. I think we should reach the tree sooner rather than later..." Not that she was particularly eager to get there--it would be hard for her and she knew it. But they needed to go and there was no use dallying. 

When they did finally get back on the road, Ridahne maneuvered Tsura so that he strode beside Talbot, her body swaying and moving with her horse's steps like she'd been born on horseback. In the small village of Atakhara, those who weren't busy fishing for their food were out hunting it in the Dust Sea. Ridahne's family did both, but since Hadian was older and destined to follow the family line of fishing, he had gone to sea and that left Ridahne to raise ithali kits for hunting, and to break horses that would tolerate long days in the sands alongside a predatory cat. In some way, she had been born on horseback. 

"So I never did ask, how old are you anyway? My judge of human age is..." she teetered a long hand back and forth, "not so good. But you are young for your kind, yes?"