Casae gives a harsh smile to hide away the flicker of nervousness that spiked through the features of the Elvaan woman. “I fear more the strike of lightening, than the kiss of cold that comes with the rain.” she quirks with a nervous chortle; spear lifted to give small gesture to grant explanation as to why. Between the pole-arm, the heavy armor and the dragoon’s aerial style; it made combat in such weather tempting for fate.<br/><br/>A slight smile starts to creep onto the woman’s features at the acceptance of her offer of help, small manner it was to repay for her own haughty behavior and the shelter offered. Casae for her traveling did not find occasion to socialize with those outside of the order of dragoons; even more rare those outside of her race. A smooth step to the side given from her body, twisting around to face the wall she had been leaning against to hide away the smile that started to tug at her features; it was strangely relaxing to be in Constance’s presence - as if ensured that the woman would forgive her haughty tongue without a second thought. Where the Elvaan treated words like they treated combat; constantly on guard and refined.<br/><br/>A moment spent lingering back from the gathering that started to shift into the other room for warmth and drinks; long enough for the Dragoon to remove her helm and gauntlets. A tug of strap against each wrist to loosen the relatively new armor and release their embrace from the slender fingers within. A flex of her digits given before grasping onto the forehead guard of the helmet to tug it up and backwards; disengaging the armor from the chest piece. Gloves placed into the helm to be carried with one hand, while the other hoists up her spear to carry the disarmed pieces along to the room heated by the fire. Any more removed would take far too much time than the Dragoon was willing to spend fussing about with herself instead of helping as promised.<br/><br/>“Fate. Luck. Faith.” she pipes up with the typical crass tone towards such words. “If anything an be, then why not everything?” rhetorical question placed towards the Nun. “Every victory or death, merely an outcome of chance instead of skill.” again the doubt of the Dragoon placed out before strangers; as if it mattered to them. Fear driven words - both at the potential of truth, and at the potential of her mocking being appropriate. The divine, and lack of, were both terrifying options.<br/><br/>Casae quickly places the spear and pieces of unequipped armor down out of the way with minor reverence to the objects before seeking out to take place near Constance to assist with the brewing of tea for the gathering that had formed - without baring ill will towards the priestess; if anything the tall woman with pointed ears’ mood had elevated. It could make one wonder if Casae truly believed her words, even if it had not yet occurred to herself.<br/>