Bramblepoint but i'm only human

The woman — she was a woman of mortal flesh, since she bore those scars on her shoulder, he told himself — reacted to his presence, her sobs ending swiftly, replaced by a face of stone as she turns to him. A warrior then, he thinks. He recognized the motions that she underwent. He knew them all too well. 

At first he wonders if she spoke a form of Common unbeknownst to him. The words sounded somewhat similar to Common, but not exactly. His face must have been blank, for she translated quickly. Her voice was soft, rough, and resigned. I wanted to see what creature was making all that noise, he said to the woman. You mourn loudly. What else could her tears be shed for? He had never see such sadness except in the face of death. Or perhaps romance? He knew more of the former than the latter.