Hideaway Strath gypsy girl, where have you been

A breath of a chuckle escaped her lips, cheeks warming with a faint flush. A tendril of a smile curled over them, the feathery plume of her curled tail bobbing in a slight wag at her hocks where it hung neutrally. 

"Ah, yes," she agreed, head falling back slightly (and if she were human, a palm might have smacked lightly against her forehead) as if the Overseer's words had just reminded her of her original intentions. "I 'ave promised to make a varrior of meself, to become a combat medic fer Donav's vars." It was said very seriously, the northron fae's spine straightening as she drew herself up with purpose -- a Saint worthy of being feared, even if the sighthound was perhaps the least fearsome creature to inhabit Teekon thus far. 

"I vas looking fer a sparring partner, to begin me training," she added, before the pale jade-kissed gems of her gaze lit up with sudden inspiration as they met Nyra's hellfire orbs. "Ye are a varrior, no? Vould ye mind sparring vith me -- showing me ze ropes?" The questions came eagerly, an excited quiver shivering through her gamine frame as she supressed a soft, dog-like whine of exuberance.