"I call me Morgaine, sir of the Church," Morgaine responded, mimicking his bow with one of her own and grinning widely up at him. "I suppose I'm a hunter now, as you. As 'First Hunter', would that make you my chief?" Victor was right about him, she had to admit. He didn't wear the hooded robe of the other churchmen, instead dressing in a sort of military-esque uniform, glistening with silk and silver, his shoulders looking for all the world like they've a pair of feathery wings hanging off them. What a sight he was, a nobleman among his peasants. This Dietrich did have a bonny look about him, a fine mix of chivalrous and roguish that Morgaine must admit caught her eye rather well. Did these churchmen swear themselves to asceticism? An impious thing to consider, she admitted. 

"I suppose that means I'm to be having one of these," she said, gesturing to the pile of Church uniforms. None of them looked likely to fit her snug and proper. They were all woven with Yharnamites in mind, tall and lanky as strings. The men of this city shoot straight up from the ground towards the sky, with hardly enough room side to side as to keep them from swaying in the breeze. It's no wonder the entire city was built to match. She strode purposefully over to it to consider them closer, pulling one out that looked almost right, turning it this way and that, and setting it back down with a huff. "Perhaps later, then," she muttered to herself.