Dragoncrest Cliffs Outcast Drake

The boy's words had her ears tilt back to touch her crown a moment, the sylph's weight shifting. He hadn't finished his thought (yet again) but Dalia could guess at what he meant well enough. He did not seek to harm her, hurt her, and while the girl spurned the notion that he would, she knew already that she was not meant to be a fighter; was not built for it and did not love it as her packmates did. Was there harm in that? She'd thought so, still did, for surely her worth in a pack strong as Drageda ought to plummet if she could not fight, could not stand for herself. But did her mother not fight, and yet still was a respected healer, respected member? Perhaps she ought to abandon the idea entirely in lieu of other trades, learn more of the stars that she loved so, the herbs and plants that fascinated her so raptly. 

Subdued by her own thoughts, she looked to the boy, bi-coloured gaze soft. Rationalizing her thoughts did not dismiss them entirely, and besides, it had been a long while since she'd sparred; perhaps, somehow, she'd gotten better. "I would like to try," The sylph admitted, though her gaze was slightly unsure, both over the prospect of sparring, and doing so with a near stranger.