Estelle reached down and patted the flank of her horse as it whickered uneasily. "Papillon, easy," she whispered in its ear. "We're in no danger."

The tall blonde woman adjusted her seat, drawing herself up to her full, quite considerable height. "Greetings, damosel," she called out. Her voice rang low and clear through the air, perhaps a little louder than she'd intended. "I mean no harm. I am merely a traveller who has come many a mile."

Estelle dismounted by flinging her off leg over Papillon's shoulder, an easy graceful motion that nonetheless displayed both horsemanship and agility - a warning, if one were needed, that this was no soft noblewoman but someone who could trust both her steed and her skill in a pinch. Not likely to be necessary today, Estelle reflected with a wry inner smile, but it was a habit that had served her well among sellswords and bannerets alike. 

She approached the young woman who'd greeted her, halting a couple of steps away - a distance, her warrior's eye measured, just out of reach of knife or dagger. She doffed her broad-brimmed riding hat, looked the woman in the eye - and felt the blood drain from her face as a thousand thoughts rushed through her mind. It took but a moment for her to regain her bearings - no, this could not be Lilith, and was not. A little shorter, a little sturdier, the eyes tinged with green rather than violet... but as close a twin to the woman she had devoted her life to as there might be in all creation. 

"I... I am Estelle Sancerre," she stammered. "May I rest and water my horse a while? We'll be on our way once he's had a breather."