[ She's begun to peel the heavy, soaked leathers off of herself by the time she notices him. The look is frowning and tired, and she drags herself to her feet with what looks more like stubbornness than with strength.
There's a cane at her hip, she slips it from its belt loop and swings it in a wide arch. It's not longer a cane, but a whip of notched blades. She's tired, but neither will she be backstabbed by some stranger. Not even other hunters could be trusted these days... Her childish look of mistrust in her soft, round face is at odds with the serious weapon in her hands. ]
Name yourself.
[ More of a challenge that a call for pleasantries. ]
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There's a cane at her hip, she slips it from its belt loop and swings it in a wide arch. It's not longer a cane, but a whip of notched blades. She's tired, but neither will she be backstabbed by some stranger. Not even other hunters could be trusted these days... Her childish look of mistrust in her soft, round face is at odds with the serious weapon in her hands. ]
Name yourself.
[ More of a challenge that a call for pleasantries. ]