She'd have been an easy mark for him a lifetime ago. It's hard to tell if that's what makes him pause, or if it's the green glow emanating from the middle of her chest.

His hearing isn't as good as it once was, but his eyesight is shrewd as ever in the blackness of the mines. The shadowy figures haunting her steps don't go unnoticed, but Kit doesn't peg them for Carta or Coterie. Life down here breeds desperation; better to give them every reason not to risk their necks.

He makes a show of putting his back to them, so that in the glint of the firelight offered by a flickering sconce they can see the two, mean axes sheathed across his shoulderblades. Over his shoulder, he gives each of them a pointed, cold look. Then he turns and walks after the elf, and calls out to her, "Hey, I think you dropped something."