Nelynda watched the male warily.  True, he was spawn of her mistress, but more importantly, he was male.  And worthless.  What had her life been reduced to, that accompanying a mere male was the least repugnant of her options?  The dwarves were merry drunkards, but they had no appreciation for the finer things, focusing their attention on mechanics and ignoring ascetics and the arts.  At least the male reminded her of something familiar - all those gears and masts and ropes and pulleys made her dizzy.<br/><br/>"Why do you want to go there?"  She asked, not for the first time - she didn't see much point in returning to the galleon - there would be kobolds and goblins and Mistrss P'rztall  was dead.  By now, even her bones were likely gone.  Skipping lightly over the rocks, she made her way from sand to grass, and turned back to her companion, awaiting his answer.