More than anything, she<span style="font-style: italic">felt</span>her.  Almost angry resolve and maybe a little nervousness, an all around stubborn feeling, Yvonne<span style="font-style: italic">knew</span>the person who passed at her back into the church.<br/><br/>Turning away from the street she intended to walk, she stared into the back of either a young boy still developing from an androgynous pubescence to a man, or a woman who might not have wanted to be known for one.  It was the way she walked that gave her away.  Confidence like that didn't belong to the young, and no amount of excess cloth could hide a sway meant to bare them unless intended.  Of all people, Yvonne knew that lesson well.  She watched the stranger for sometime as she led herself directly to an attendant, dark curls bouncing in play with the light.  The color she knew, but the length she did not.<br/><br/>When the stranger spoke to the man, it was the voice she understood, but the words...<br/><br/>Yvonne stood straighter, eyes widening slightly, hands falling to her sides, and all just at the sound of her own name.  Isolde Devereaux, His Chosen, was here in Mittenwald.  The healer had turned her away and now dressed in a fashion clearly indicating she did not want to be seen - Yvonne would have gladly followed such intrinsic instruction, but the healer was here for<span style="font-style: italic">her</span>.<br/><br/>The shot.<br/><br/>She slid against the door, suddenly very wary, and took a second look about the room, closer at the detailed nooks and nearly faceless patrons.  Someone had to have known Yvonne was here to guide Memselle Devereaux's search for her.  Granted, it was not a fact the commander hid that she attended church every moment she was, well, granted, but the timing of a shooter as His Chosen crossed in search for His Warrior?  Trust was given to those worthy, and unnamed, shadowy benefactors - real or otherwise - were not.  So instead of revealing herself immediately, Yvonne made a perimeter check, comfortable enough that the churchgoers were just that, though a tourist or two were still questionable - they would not risk giving away their positions with Yvonne outside its walls.<br/><br/>The man on the spires seemed to have been working alone, taken into custody, but he had certain access to the rooftop that made her wary, still. No others warranted her attention beyond cataloged numbers, but that did not mean the assassins were not out there, waiting.  Or<span style="font-style: italic">in there</span>, waiting.  She growled, no place was sacred anymore, and returned her sidearm to its hiding place as she returned to the woman inquiring after her inside.<br/><br/>"Memselle Devereaux," she said, awe in her voice despite a sour memories when she had spoke the name before.  She thanked the attendant with a nod, dismissing his assistance in the matter further, but as graciously as a small smile could afford.  The Commander could not allot the pleasantries time, either, so she continued, "I heard a shot fired, and though you do not trust me, I do not trust... that this is a safe place to talk.  If I am right to assume this is your purpose, will you please allow me your faith to conduct you someplace that might be?"  She gestured back, deeper into the building.  The street was clearly more dangerous and Isolde would know it, too, especially if she were to be spirited away to a place unknown by a woman she did not trust.  Hopefully Yvonne could change that regard between them, she just needed to be worthy of a little,<span style="font-style: italic">enough</span>trust that the healer would discuss with her privately her mission, then maybe they could leave with the same one.