Lyra studied the High Elf for a moment, noting the guarded look in his eyes and the tension that seemed to radiate from his every pore. [i]Did elves have pores?[/i] She could relate to his apprehension, the familiar weight of distrust settling in her chest. 

"Well, enjoying might be a stretch," she replied, a wry smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Looks more like you're contemplating the mysteries of the universe in that mug of yours." 

She took a sip of her own drink, the warmth of the mead soothing the edges of her nerves. Despite his reluctance to engage, there was something about him that intrigued her, a quiet intensity that belied his stoic exterior. 

"Name's Lyra, by the way," she continued, gleefully extending a hand in greeting. "And you?"