Gilia, to her credit, hadn't wandered far from the man so well equipped. She knew what she was good at, and what she wasn't, and was under no interest to pretend otherwise. Her hands held in front of her, mindful of how he walked, where he walked, making sure not to get in his way. That habit of those used to following and never making too much noise.

The only thing that isn't innocuous despite all her best efforts, is that head of hair, pinned below her wimple and veil and barely contained, trying desperately to get free. "Why ever would they do that?"

To a daughter of bonded spirits, one whom she loves - and so it loves all her family, she cannot imagine it. But she does as she's told, stepping in close to him, not so small as to be under his elbow, not so tall to be above his chin. But there might be a problem there, his charm, so keen on detecting magic.

Well, the dolls aren't the only thing spirits are mingled with.