The elf's expression blossomed and she touched her cheek gently, as if to coddle her eyes that were worth of a compliment. Being so close in appearance to a Kartaian, it wasn't a compliment she received often. Her hair, too, was the same deep shade of red-pink, tied back and braided to keep from her face. It was messy on one side, betraying the fact that she'd been asleep before Kire had triggered the wards. 

As Kire asked about Envy, the elf smiled again. "Sorcerer." She said simply, though she struggled with pronouncing the word. She drew a circle around her face. "Like me." Her hand rose upward. "Tall. But hates being woken." She said with a dramatic eye-widening for emphasis. "They may wait until the sunlight." Silence fell, as she considered the question answered, but her fuschia eyes roamed Kire, her head tilted curiously. "May I touch?" She asked, raising her left index finger, wiggling it, before pointing to toward Kire's armoured shoulder. "I do not know armour like this. Different from what the sollers ... Sole ... warriors wear here." She rambled off quickly in her native tongue in a tone that said she was ranting about the difficult pronunciations of common words before grinning again, and prodding Kire's armour with her finger. No more than that. As if to test how hard it was compared to how it looked. 

"I am Ysaryn." The elf admitted, realizing she hadn't said. "When Ziad was attacked, we knew where I live. I came with others. Helped bring people here. Help injuries. Bury when needed." Ysaryn frowned. "Many did not make it. Some still fight."

"Saryn." The boy returned, his tone sharp as if to scold her for talking. He looked no older than ten, but Ysaryn hushed at once, looking unsure. His dark eyes went back to Kire, still frowning. Despite the elf's admission that many were wounded or needed help, this one looked physically unscathed. "Leave your weapon with her, and follow me."

Ysaaryn looked far too thrilled over the idea of being left with a weapon, which made the boy frown again. "Erm, second thought, follow me. Just hands off the hilt." The elf muttered something in her tongue, unhappy, which he ignored before turning to disappear into the cavern. 

He was silent as he walked ahead of her to a small antechamber. Kire's magic would tingle again, the smell of tobacco and nectar, and sound would fall less on her ears. The sound of the elf ranting behind them died instantly. The smell of disturbed dirt and ore filled the air here, though it was drowned out by the reek of tobacco. It wasn't a large chamber, and the duo stopped some half a dozen paces once the passed the sound barrier as they entered the little room in which the elf took residence. 

He sat upright in what was a makeshift bed; essentially a massive amount of leaves and straw covered in blankets. Even sitting, his size was evident; he was Kartaian. But he looked far different than the others. Aside from missing one ear, the scarred tissue announcing it was a very old injury, his dark blue-grey skin was ashen grey in several places. His face, even, was almost entirely ashen, the skin uneven and damaged. 
Burn scars. 

He turned his head slightly when they approached, his black shifting along his shoulders. "So. Who arrives here in the middle of the night demanding that I be woken?" He asked, his voice tired. In fact, he barely opened his eyes. "Aeron tells me you look like someone I have met before, but are not her. At least he doesn't think so." Aeron, the boy, swelled his chest, as if ready to defend his opinion. "So who are you then, stranger. And why do you come at night reeking of death?"