Vanator had turned his head slightly as Pygmy shimmied off his cloak and took the tunic from his hand. He only caught a flash of pale skin as the Kelvic deftly donned his garb. Even for the experienced warrior, it was a bit awkward that the woman exhibited no shame, no hesitation or expectation that he should avert his gaze while she dressed. He had nevertheless.
When he was satisfied that she was properly covered, Vanator turned back to Pygmy. She was just finishing shuffling the hem of the shirt over her thighs. He looked down at her feet, relieved to see that her legs did not end in hooves.
For a moment he studied the stout, well -proportioned girl. She was nothing like a Drykas woman. Pygmy lacked the lean muscled limbs of his people. Not that the Kelvic appeared weak. Her bared arms and legs possessed the bulk of firm muscle beneath a smooth-skinned roundness. The fullness of her hips stretched at the fabric of the tunic. Indeed, Pygmy's human form clearly carried the traits of her natural goat shape. That similarity extended to the cherub-like features of her round face, framed in her roughly cropped short hair. His eyes met hers again, the slitted pupils still startling. Vanator had made a practice of studying people's emotions in their eyes. He found he could not discern anything from her inhuman gaze.
Vanator smiled at Pygmy's question, willfully setting aside the strangeness of the goat-girl. He decidedly liked her, in spite of his stark unfamiliarity with her kind. He detected no guile in Pygmy, just an honest curiosity. It was refreshing to meet her, and he found he had dropped his guard, and his axe, in the woman's presence.
He leaned down to retreve his cloak at Pygmy's feet. "The Sea of Grass is vast, and the people who live in it relatively few. Like I said, we travel in groups, not spread out in settlements. I can assure you, though your caravan may not have seen us.....we have seen you."
The Drykas were keenly aware of when travelers cross their lands, and fiercely protective of it. Those who stray too far from the marked trade routes risked an unpleasant encounter with a band of Drykas horse warriors.
"There is also a city, our capitol. It moves across the plains like our Pavilions do." He walked over to Backlash, crouching to pick up his abandoned battle ax along the way. Tossing the cloak across the Strider's withers, he then slid the long haft of the ax through a leather loop in the yvas.
Vanator leaned an arm against his mount, turning back toward Pygmy. A brisk breeze kicked up, stirring his auburn hair, tugging gently at the pair of thin braids that hung at either side of his face. Small, aged bronze and silver bands woven in them reflected dully the late winter sun. The air cooled his neck, drying the trace of sweat that had gathered beneath his mane. He reached up and absent-mindedly brushed away a stray lock. Somewhere nearby, a ground bird clucked.
"Where did you come from Pygmy, If I may ask? And where are you going?" Vanator's inquiry may have been a bit intrusive, but was delivered with a pleasant tone. He was Drykas, and he thought he had every right to ask what an outsider was doing on Drykas land.