Blackfoot Forest striding, powerful, into the arms of death

He shrugs his shoulders at the description. They are all too small to be useful to him, so he lumps them all together. Newborns were mewling and rat-sized; any larger and they become loud and investigative of their own little universe, but he cannot teach them to fight and they cannot hunt for him, so Revui dismisses their existence entirely, unless they are directly in front of him. The description the woman gives is not remarkable, nor is it familiar, but he doesn't respond much to it beyond that nonchalance.

She snorts at his warning; his assumption is right, though. She is a warrior. One who has seen plenty of battle. Her arrogance is likely as strong as his own, her pride and willpower in excess. Revui cannot help but smirk and the expression does not suit his face.

You look like a survivor. He comments, appreciatively.