Although Harol seemed to feel safe around those knights and he had informed her about them earlier, Freya had one hand resting around the handle of a dagger, her distrust showing up as was usual for the woman. After all, they knew Harol, not her, and what reason would they have to protect and not attack a stranger stepping onto their ground? She didn't practice any kind of magic, unlike them, and she wasn't just any stranger, but a wanted rogue. Obviously enough, it would only make sense that they saw her as a threat, but that didn't seem to be the case.

If anything other than distrust, Freya couldn't help but feeling uncomfortable and like an outcast. Those people they were going to, were peaceful mages and warriors with at least some honour, or so she assumed. And Freya herself? She was nothing like that. She had not even the slightest bit of knowledge about magic, and honour was something unfamiliar to the untrustworthy rogue, who had been loyal to none but one person throughout her life so far, stole and hardly ever gave, not caring if she stole from the rich or the poor. She felt like an outsider, like she didn't belong with those people at all, and knowing she would meet oracles, who could just know everything about her, even the secrets she held, like being the daughter of a prostitute and falling in love with a mercenary assigned to attack her and almost marrying that man, but ending up with his corpse next to her the night before their wedding. Knowing that the oracles could very well now this about her, and with that just every other part of her, made her feel uneasy.