Tzila turns up somewhere in the middle, and looks around for a long moment before shrugging and requesting breakfast - with tea, which she will share. "Hopefully, we will not need your services /too/ often." She says, after a moment or two to absorb all the new information. "Tzila Nastaran. Tracker." A longbow and quiver lean against her chair, and she infrequently reaches back to insure they have not slipped or otherwise moved.