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Coursabal tensed once more. He didn't like that hint. Especially what it insinuated towards his young companion. But he eased once more when D'artra laughed. The sound calming his nerves until he wasn't quite sure what it was that had bothered him.

"I should say that I do, Sir Knight." Truly she was amused now, the shadows that danced in her dark eyes portraying an almost lively innocence. Her voice was pitched with fading mirth as she bowed almost mockingly and tipped an imaginary hat to him. "And I'm sorry to see just which form of honor you follow. Sorry that you would not even bother to know something before judging it as right or wrong. Sorry, indeed, for when we both see our ways as right the true wrongdoer is bound to be never known. For who would truly listen to a stranger when the facts are changed to fit the belief?"

Her dress caught a cold breeze and funneled in its own dark shadows, tugging tightly to her lean frame. Her muscles were honed, but not obtrusively so, and her fingers had slipped a millimeter from the pommels to her twin blades.

A silvery wolven ear twitched to the side and Coursabal shifted his weight ever so slightly. The silver-topped female let out a sigh. She understood the lupine's angst and turned so that she could see the Holy Knight through her peripheral vision. "If you wish to stop me...then now is the time to do so.... If not..." She smiled sadly, turning her face away as if trying to hide it. "...may you go with the guiding grace of the Guardian."

Coursabal remained still, poised defensively by the young woman as if ready to do anything to keep her safety ensured. The young woman, in question, reached up to hook an errant strand of silver behind a delicate ear, a light frown kissing her features. 'Patron' was more less an understatement, though she wasn't about to tell him that.

"My plan, Sir Knight?" She looked over the side of her shoulder to regard Pedrius fully. He said much in the way he held himself. Perhaps more than he knew. He seemed unsure of himself, or at least unsure of her. He didn't want to start anything that could be avoided, and she found herself almost wanting to give an acknowledging nod to him. Almost. Perhaps they were alike...then again, perhaps they were as different as a bird from a rock.

She smirked lightly, almost a softly sad expression crossing her face. "I plan to get the money she owes him and teach her a lesson in manners...nothing more. Though I cannot guarantee her safety if she tries to attack me, surely you would not intend to destroy me for acting in self defense?"

Oh she understood, all right. She had been born into this world with the weight of understanding already heavily burndening her shoulders. She kept her gaze level with his, her own unspoken words clear. She would do what she deemed right. Nothing else. Regardless of personal feelings, she would do what she'd always done when presented with a challange.

She smiled almost mournfully before reaching a hand up and tracing gentle fingertips down one of the scars on his face. It was almost instinctual, that tenderly soft touch. The need to reach out to some sort of pain, to ease it. Even if it didn't hurt anymore. Her voice came so soft that he could barely hear the distinct words.

"You're wrong..." she recoiled her hand slowly, holding it level with her heart as if she didn't know what to do with it. "...I protect him."

The woman burst into another soft volley of silken laughter and again the Lupine seemed to relax at the sound. He liked it when she laughed. It was like a well of purity sprung up and threatened to drown him in its goodness. Yes, he liked it when she laughed.

"Why you're the demanding one, aren't you?" She grinned, her face a mixture of almost child-like amusement. "Would it really hurt for you to be just a tad more civil about this whole thing?"

Coursabal gave a wolfish smirk, his maw twisting to reveal his pointed fangs in his own bemused expression. The scar on his snout making him seem almost comical when smiling like that. Again, almost.

"Unless you're planning to travel with us I do believe our names are rather irrelevant." She then paused, tilting her head to the side in subtly silent contemplation. "Are you planning on following us?"

She turned to Coursabal when Pedrius had finished and grinned up at the tall intimidating figure, obviously she was very pleased about something. "See! I told you not everyone here is a schplort-nosed cafleebleflabble!"

The lupine grumbled something nasty and indecipherable beneath his breath and the platinum-topped female let out another burst of laughter. She was truly enjoying this day. She turned back towards Pedrius, a kind fire burning within her eyes.

"I am D'artra, heir to the clan of the Vimuku~Finnatos line." She bowed her head in a slight indication of respect and protocol. "And this knot-tailed wolf is known as Coursabal Silverfang."

Almost instantly the lupine's fur bristled and his ears perked up. He turned his nose to the wind, his double-colored eyes narrowing slightly.

D'artra reacted almost instantly, turning her large dark eyes towards him. A brief glance was all it took for her to know what was going on. She stiffened lightly, her mood changing like she had flipped a switch and turned off the light of joyousness within her.

Mournful. Sad. Distant.

She was all those things and more, all carefully buried and hidden beneath a calm mask of civility. She gave the wolf a slight nod of her head and turned in the direction of the wind. Then she paused, and half turned towards Pedrius.

"Follow with or behind... it is your choice."

Then she began to walk once more, Coursabal taking his place stoically at her flank. One of his pearly white ears remaining fixated upon the Holy Knight untrustingly.

The ripple of power that washed through the air from behind made D'artra's step falter for a moment. but then the moment passed and she merely muttered as she continued once more. "Childish fool..."

Coursabal tensed. His trust growing thinner and thinner for this 'Holy knight'. He had seen what great power could do to a Player, and he had also seen long since the corruption that festered within such a person. It made no difference what they claimed they followed, because either way, they were all the same. Some, like D'artra, had come to learn to accept that while others...others hadn't. He stiffened, his muscular form tensing.

"Be calm, my friend..." she made a soft gesture with one hand, the other having almost defensively gone back to the pommels of her ketenes. He complied with her words. Her trust ran high. Always. But still... her judgment had never steered them wrong before. Then she explained further, "...he's merely pouting because I looked upon him as an equal, and not with reverence."

At that the wolf chuckled, a raspy sound that grew to a coarse laugh.

The two he trailed followed each other with a serene kind of connection. They knew exactly how to speak to the other through subtleties that most Players and many of the natives seemed to overlook. If one did anything the other knew and responded with fluent grace and precision to balance the situation. Even when it was just the simple task of trying to maneuver through the over populated village town.

When they cleared the main streets they found their way through thet back alleys. This might seem suspicious to anyone, but indeed it did seem they moved faster away from the buzzing hum of human contact. It wasn't long indeed until they had even passed the old wooden gate-posts that indicated the break of the city-line.

D'artra paused, allowing Coursabal to step forward, his scarred snoze tipping towards the wind. He sniffed for a moment as she shut her eyes and sighed. This was going to be a long day indeed...but maybe...just maybe she could leave this whole mess behind by tomorrow.

"She's to the west." The raspy sound of the wolf's voice cut through her thoughts and cleared her mind.

She snickered. "So I guess that merchant hadn't been lying after all...perhaps I should have thanked him a little more warmly."

The wolf gave the softest of shrugs. He didn't have to say it, they both knew. The sorry bloke wouldn't have noticed anyways. After that moment they began to walk again, only this time it seemed both were a little more attentive. To the southwest of Middle Northbough, just a mile or two from the town, was the thick forest of Nytsphera. It was along the path leading just north of the line of the trees that the two took up. Soft little puffs of the dry gray clay of the road stirring in their fast paced wake.

They walked for a while in that comfortable companionship, well enough to just enjoy the company of the other without unnecessary banter. They seemed even more at home when they got closer to the growing line of trees of the Nytphera forest. There was something about the very land itself that seemed to sing throughout their blood.

D'artra paused once more, enjoying the steady tug of a light breeze that played with her silvery hair. Coursabal regained their bearings and waited. When nearly black eyes opened the young female managed a kind smile and gave a nod of her head. Coursabal walked alongside her now that they were once more down to just the two of them. Even if the 'Holy' one was hovering about somewhere. It didn't matter. Because she had put her trust in him.

She glanced at her large companion admiringly. His fur was so flawlessly beautiful. So different from the first time she had met him...the first time she had seen him.

He caught her expression and snarled softly, giving her a look that said to stop. She laughed, and his own expression became less intense.

"I will never forget your face when you first met my Dei'andri." She snickered again, recalling the face he had made. "It looked as though you'd just tried to drink from the downside of the river of Oshfells!"

It was at that moment in which from the ditch before the tree line sprang forth half a score of beings. They were all male, their leathery armor loose enough so that it made nary a sound with the movements. Each brandished a blade, each blade had varied lengths, as though they were the choice weapons. one carried a simple war-axe slung casually over his shoulder, the steel bracers upon his wrists holding the markings that clarified him as a bandit.

The group swiftly and easily took positions in a horseshoe shape about the two travelers. The man with the axe stepped forward and Coursabal tensed, easily putting himself just a step ahead of the silver-topped female. D'artra, however, put her hand out and let it brush soothingly against the fur of his muscular forearm. The motion was enough to still him from attack, no matter how subtle it was.