Giriel frowns. It is an honest frown, a straightforward sort of frown. The sort of frown that happens at just the right timing when she hears about disturbed graves that says “gosh that’s serious” and “that sounds like a terrible thing” and comes with a side of “I’m already thinking about how to fix this” all wrapped together in one furrowed browns and downturned lip. Her tea and the dress are both, for the moment, forgotten in that frown. 

Cathak Agata ought to be entirely reassured. There is no doubt that Giriel will drop what she’s doing and head out there as soon as it’s polite to leave. She’s certainly not going to bring up any sort of reward or pay or...well the dress is already more than enough and she’s not interested in having chests of gold dumped on her or whatnot. If she solves the problem, she’s earn a few meals selling simple potions to relieve itches and ease sleep to the soldiers and be more than pleased with herself.

She ought to be reassured except for what Giriel blurts out next, the only result of such an honest frown: “If the N’yari desecrated the graves, why are the ghosts haunting your soldiers and not the N’yari?” Giriel frowns, hands pressed on the table. “They must have one of their most powerful shaman’s there! Gosh, I hope, well, I’m sure I could talk some sense into her, no shaman would want to do this, so there must be some really good reason.” 

Giriel nods to herself in satisfaction, her bangs bobbing forward, and the frown disappears. “Thank you for telling me, I’ll do everyone I can...er uh, I’ll help everything I can...or I mean, I’ll help everyone I can to help!” She quickly pours another cup of tea and downs this one quickly, hiding the awkwardness of her response and how much Agata had flustered her. Besides, it would be rude to leave without finishing, so she needs to hurry up!