“Dawn’s light favor you, father. And you, brother,” Yrsa said, with a nod to Anton. Out of habit, her hand rose to touch the disc of metal hanging on a chain about her neck, the face-in-sun of Pelor. Idly, Yrsa wondered what training a scholarly monk undertook; there had been no such persons at her church. She would have to speak to him about it when they were free to converse and unburdened of formality.<br/><br/>Yrsa regarded the others with interest, wondering what had brought them to volunteer for this mission. The woman in the cloak, she had no idea. The elven woman’s reason was clear, and though she seemed ill-equipped for battle, Yrsa knew better than to underestimate those who walked with nature. As for the foppish man who reeked of wine, well, she only hoped he was halfway competent with the weapons he carried.<br/><br/><em>Pelor save us if he isn’t.</em>“It’s good to meet you all,” she said to those who’d just introduced themselves.