Thunder Dome No one's telling me the cure

natshana chuckles, "to you, perhaps. in my language, it is simply the word for 'moon,'" whenever she introduces herself to a non-native speaker, this thought always crosses her mind. "but thank you, nevertheless." once he gives his name, she nods, acknowledging him with a cordial bob of her head.  she has never been one for idle pleasantries ('well met' or 'nice to meet you').  they ring hollow for her, somehow. when he expresses his thanks for her treatment, she does much the same.  there is a nonverbal reception of his gratitude, and they continue on.

"i go wherever i am called," there is some irony in her words, sheltered by the subtle sarcasm she employs. "i have traveled far from my birth pack to utilize my talents here." that is all she is willing to divulge thus far. "what about you?  were you born here?" as they talk, she begins to assemble her supplies, never one for tolerating a mess.