[He is quite tall. She has to tip her face slightly up to meet his eye properly rather than simply facing the wound. It should be intimidating - the combination with the general width of him, and the blood, and the horns, and the qunariness of it all (Did you know that in the Qun they keep their mages on chain leashes and they may never be left alone, not even in sleep?), and her shrinking companion -, but she has decided ahead of time that she doesn't mean to be frightened by the sort of person who is particular to how he keeps his blood inside of him and so she is not.
Mostly not. She can convince herself to ignore it.]
He is a seamstress. [A small noise of protest from the young man follows.] Would you see us in, or would you rather be stitched up here on the doorstep?
no subject
Mostly not. She can convince herself to ignore it.]
He is a seamstress. [A small noise of protest from the young man follows.] Would you see us in, or would you rather be stitched up here on the doorstep?