Rohaan never seemed to have much of a humble air anyway, not by the standards of most people, but as soon as they were within sight of the soldiers, his demeanor notably shifted. It was subtle at first, yet still noticeable as he slouched a little less, his stride was a bit stronger, a bit more purposeful, and he wore an arrogance that was generally the sole province of cats. It was hard to tell if this shift was born out of defense, or a genuine sense of superiority. Either way, Rohaan walked into the pack of soldiers like he was a general come to congratulate his men on some small triumph. At some point between entering the battlefield and addressing Erik, he'd obtained a skin half-full of very watered down wine, though it was unclear exactly when, where, or how he'd gotten it. But he looked to all the world like it was his, and had been his since he'd had a taste for wine. 

The shifter tipped the skin back, relishing the flow of the cool liquid down his dry throat. But at the words 'armed transport' he made a face like the wine had turned to vinegar and choked a little, struggling not to spray the wine as he did. "Tevira's tits! Armed transport? What do we look like, fat duchesses? If that ain't the worst way to travel anywhere, then I don't know what is. Humans in general--but even worse, soldiers--are mind numbingly slow creatures..." He took a breath, rubbing his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. "Ugh, fine, fine," he relented. But you've got to provide a wagon or a carriage or something. Either that or the most exceptionally fearless horse you've got. I'll be damned if I walk all the way back to Last Vigil," he said with some measure of melodramatic disdain, as if he found walking long distances banal. "And food. Plenty of it. Any sort, I'm not particular." A good meal--a real one and not just some hastily gobbled morsels from Ash's pack--and a nap in a comfortable place was at the forefront of his mind at the moment