After a time of silence, the moon's glare running along her nerves as well, though she embraced this skittering across her flesh. The skittering meant that she does not forget what is at stake here.<br/><br/>"It is the elve's responsibility to take care of the Beastmen of the world Tristan. The god who created elfinkin granted us many gifts, and it would be unwise and uncharitable for us to not use such gifts to aide the less fortuned begottens of the gods." Again she speaks in rote, rarely looking at him as the moon's silvery beams play across her own hair of spun silver.<br/><br/>Though she is Elf, she does show some effect of the ride. The tightly woven braids of her hair beginning to unravel, hanging down her back somewhat now, Ana herself dozing lightly against her still proudly set carriage. "Counting even the most minor of spawn, two hundred thirty seven. This will be two hundred and thirty eight. Most were misbegotten miscreants that barely had a speck of magic left within their twisted souls."<br/><br/>"Does the Moon always effect you so?" She speaks offhandedly, perhaps noticing a shiver, or perhaps just being attuned to her surroundings.