“Storms rarely do.” she whispers in a light tone more for herself than anyone else, eyes watching at the same window for a moment before they’re beckoned away by Constance’s offer. A light smile forms upon Casae’s lips - glad if nothing else that her sharp personality was not causing offense to the lady of the abbey at least. “Tea sounds delightful. Would you like a hand?” the dragoon offers; though the assistance an armored woman unskilled with preparation of drink and food was somewhat dubious. The appearance of politeness important to the Elvaan, especially when being given an offering out of kindness.<br/>