Shadewood you are at war, even in your dreams

In an attempt to communicate, if even for only a second, Djehanne cleared her throat and whispered as clearly as she could manage, Tacita. Even with all of her power focused on that one, simple word, it came out rough and ragged, like the face of a mountain stone. The words tickled her throat with such strength that she couldn't help turning to the side an hacking for a moment in an effort to ease the itch. Her voice was nothing more than a groan, a croak, or a quack. For a woman so young and so soft, her voice sounded foreign to even her own ears. She took a deep breath and turned back to Nero with an apologetic gaze. 

Whereas the story of the nymph didn't quite match her own, she thought the name to be a lovely one. For a moment, she thought that maybe it had been her favorite one thus far. She smiled, only for a second, then went back to her stand-offish demeanor from only a moment or two before. He had a decent knack for charisma from what Djehanne could tell, but there was no way to tell whether it came from pure interest or from experience alone. 

Djehanne put on foot down, then another, until she was a few steps ahead. Only now was she close enough to get a real look at Nero and to notice the way that he stood; she studied his stance and his posture, taking note of his thin yet long frame. He could give chase, but she doubted he could do much more damage than she could. Nero, she whispered, hoping that he would have heard.