Maas looked at the Saarebas with an odd glance. He said nothing at first, merely considering the being before him. Her words and her scars stirred something within him. It was not pity (he doubted he had any such thing to offer anyone), and it most certainly was not affection, or any feeling like it. Maas reflected on it further, and finally, he realized what he felt: respect. For a Saarebas. He almost wanted to retch. Almost.

It wasn't that he felt anything toward her personally, nor did he feel that his own judgments were in error; a rogue Saarebas was as dangerous as the Darkspawn, and Maas would not hesitate to kill either one. Rather, he felt the faintest stirrings of respect toward her. A scar told a story of a trial overcome, and many scars were the sign of a strong being. His own body, hidden by his armor, bore many scars from his days as a younger mercenary. He had overcome those trials, and now he had physical, tangible proof of his own inner strength. And now, so did the Saarebas. Maas continued to consider her. Perhaps... Perhaps she would [i]not[/i] be so easily overtaken by a demon. He decided then: he would become her Arvaraad, but only in his own mind. He would not claim control over her, but rather, he would watch her. If she showed resistance to the demons' callings, if she proved that her strength was true, then he would willingly stand beside her, if only to face the greater enemy. If she fell, then he would kill her. But he would at least allow her the chance to prove herself.

So deciding, Maas took a deep breath, looked her in the eyes, and said, "You should not wear that mask. There is no need to hide who you are." With that, he turned and walked back to camp.