"I would be a poor knight indeed, if I claimed myself an expert above all others. And yet, there are those times when I wonder if any remember what meaning there is to the word. Knight-Commanders and Knight-Enchanters alike should conduct themselves to protect, and to be honourable." She cannot glance at Araceli easily, though her gaze flickers to the side, an estimation of a look her way. "Does your question an interest?"

Or was it simply a pondering and a lamenting? Herian does not hold the desire to inflict her thoughts upon those with no interest as something close and dear and precious.

Herian is tense, though. Tense, angry, wrestling with the world and herself. The quiet roll of the strangers words over her accent then them soothing. She rolls her reck as Araceli warms the oil on her hands, a noisy crackle up her spine and a quiet crunch in her muscles issued in response. Somehow she resists the urge to grimace. There are more important things to consider.

"Thank you," she says, softly. "For you aid to those needing in." Mages, moreso than her hair.