Dragging a hand across her face - the right, not the left, her eyes ache to look at the left still - she heaves out a resigned sigh from deep in her bones at it. "I was in Skyrim that long against my choosing, I can do that again." Would rather not is written in the line of her mouth, the set of her jaw yet young as she is, what does it matter really? Life rarely asks her what she would like and once again it's failed to do so.

"You know," and this is the most conversational she's managed but given the subject her hackles are up, "it's elves hunting elves. They come for you and that's that, elves with pedigrees over who can breed, over who looks most like the old ancestors. Any priest will marry anyone who wants to get married but none of us follow the one god."

She does appreciate the warnings though and her cruel smirk is for the spire, not him. (Not yet. Only it's hard to shake off what she sees in the corner of her eye; to look at him burns too.) "My lady Nocturnal is the lady of night, darkness, and luck, and she smiles on me. Before all that we learn from fourteen to go on the hunt with the hunting parties, I know well enough to keep men from seeing me coming - they like their swords and shields or their magic. I have a bow." Also shouts but she would rather not have the guard on her then beggar herself paying the bribes. "A whole place of Stormcloaks or near enough, never thought I'd miss where I was."