The hooves of a trained horse and the heels of a vain woman clicked together in the same rhythm as they crested the stone steps that looked out over the 10th gate plaza. It was easy to infer the dignified rider who led the beast for a holy knight- she was a statuesque woman in gleaming mail, the star of Bahamut worn proudly on her gilded shield, the elegant caparison draped over her steed in the same azurite blue and platinum white as the church's vestments. A common mistake, but she had no golden spurs, and her horse was a common one, and there was no polished barding beneath the caparison. Her white half-cape denoted no military rank, only the collar of a lowly priestess. The rest was pageantry.<br/><br/>"Ready and able, Brother Rufus." Her people had been of the mountains, with voices whose authority rose over the howling winds. "Fear not. Many a brigand has lost heart when they see us riding-" But she stopped short, when she spied Hanna's face. A memory stirred. "I've seen this woman fight. She put her own life in jeopardy to protect the powerless. You are in good hands, Brother Rufus." Across the plaza, she led her steed to them. The protected joints of her mail provided a flair that accentuated small movements- the turn of her wrist in the reins, the straighten of her body when she was faced with a true-blooded adventurer, the gravity of her hips when confronted by an attractive woman. "And so is my charge."<br/><br/>She had the small, hopeful smile of one anxious to show off a labor of love. Into the cart she placed her bag, and the crescent joints of her mail balanced on the wooden edge so she could speak to Hanna. "A young woman was placed in my care.<em>Points </em>is what she likes to be called." Only out of the rogue's hearing did Juris let herself sound excited about the prospect. She was as hard on Minyche as she was on herself. Had Juris been a mother, already she would be preparing the tot for knighthood. "She has some making up to do for past wrongs, so don't go too easy on her."<br/><br/>A small bow, for Rufus. Dwarves didn't seem to care for the custom- maybe it was a height thing- but as a representative of one faith greeting another, politics demanded it. She uttered a foreign word of harsh consonants, a greeting used by the dwarves of the lofty peaks, to disclose to Rufus her background and that she spoke the language. It was the polite thing to do.<br/><br/>"Do we have a fifth?"