A man wearing armor, and knowing what to do with food, was a familiar sight for Constance, and a comforting one. The feathered cloak was maybe a bit strange, but still closer to what she expected than most of the clothing worn by people here. But...

... then she noticed the ears, and she caught herself staring. Fair cheeks turned rosy as drew her eyes away and focused on really listening to his words. She got the idea it was some kind of thanks, and answered as though it were, he probably didn't understand her any more than she did him. "De rien, monsieur. Mangez, mangez," she added, urging him at the food. Then she shook her head and shrugged, apologetic. "Pardonez-moi, je ne parle votre langue."