Dragoncrest Cliffs Oh how the moon glows

There is a narrow of her eyes, a flare of her black, leathery nostrils when he ( Cecil she reminds herself that is what he called himself ) speaks that her parents would be proud of her. As if he knew them. There is that hostility, the slight tense of her shoulders in surprise. She has not said whom her parents are and there is very little to tie her to Gavriel and Gyda …unless they spoke of her by name. Which, she thinks, is possible — just because it is something she does not consider them ever doing does not mean that Sangeda is not aware of who she is and would recognize her on name alone. Still, it unsettles her for a brief moment. “You come from Sangeda?” The words are less of a question and more of an assessment than they are anything else. Eske rather thinks they wouldn’t, that the praise is unnecessary …it’s not as if she’s done anything to earn it: she was only promoted to act in Heda’s stead while she recovers. The Commander falling severely ill was a fluke, not meant to happen. She wishes to correct him: to tell him that her position as Fleimkepa is temporary but holds her tongue. She has not yet ascertained enough of who he is to trust him with the knowledge that Heda is too ill to tend to her duties as Commander.

“I am sure Heda will be pleased to hear it,” Eske murmurs, lifting her chin a inch as she assesses him once more with calculating eyes. Cecil is not the first to migrate and idly Eske wonders if he will stay as few have or leave to go back to his own nation as most others have. “What skills do you bring with you to Drageda?” The fleimkepa asks him; knowing that his acceptance fell upon her shoulders to decide. He spoke of Seageda and knows her parents …that is enough to convince her that he is from the coalition; but still she leaves him hanging a bit longer in the interest of learning what strengths he can provide Drageda with.