Taken aback by the barrage of questions and statements, Delwyn stood in shock as the man approached her, cutting a lock from her hair, tying it beside other trinkets attached to the hilt of a blade. She gritted her teeth, she fought the urge to shout, to condescend, to throw what little magic she knew around. She took a deep, ragged breath that only seemed to drive the cancerous emotions deeper into her stomach. "I was never taught healing, but it's not a skill unknown to..." She glanced at the man who had taken the lock of her hair, now sitting with the caravan, "Whores." She took a few steps forward, setting the few random items she held down on the ground.<br/><br/>She glared angrily at the man at the caravan. "<span style="color: #4080FF">Lammen en Tel'Quessir n'thang n'tel'quess</span>." She practically seethed venom with the words. The words of the elves cannot oppress one who is no longer elven. As an exile, she was stripped of her family name, and all ties to the elves, if she were to return she would likely be killed... she is no elf. She lamented this fact for altogether too long, but has long since abandoned such hopes of return and salvation. She was young, by elven standards, and had a long life of exile to drudge through, she only wished no not live it as a slave.<br/><br/>Attention turned back to the man who asked if 'the whore can heal' she spoke loudly, borderline impertinent as she held her chin high, her eyes burning with the same fire that had seen her through 5 long years. "I cannot heal by magic, but I can mend wounds, though if you wish it of me, I shall seek training to gain the ability of magical healing." To many this would be an almost counter-productive act; she was so fiercely offended that she strove to be... the best slave. The sooner she had earned her life, the sooner she would be free.<br/><br/>She stood, back straight, shoulders back, almost like the soldiers she so often saw. An almost proud stance, if not for the clothing which marked her as a specific type of slave. "If there are any items that require mending, I am also gifted at repairing." She walked to the caravan, noticeably barefoot, stubbornness taking it's toll. She waited for a task, or for the group to suggest leaving, she hated this area, the smell, the emotion and the company. She clenched her jaw, maintaining the soldier-esque pose... an almost laughable sight.