Bresthra took the moment to peer up at the sky before they went on their way. Over the many different realms she'd visited, those with stars were by far the best. Her home in the abyss had no stars, but rather, was perpetually cloudy and muted. What light was managed during the day wasn't enough to be called 'sunlight'. Vampires could wander out in this pale, false daylight and be perfectly fine. To Bresthra, her home had no real daylight. Just a brighter shade of gray. Then there were the worlds with no stars. Cast eternally in some dark universe where only the moon shone and the sun rose at the end of the long, black nights. Those were interesting, but not beautiful. Not like this. Seeing the various points of light in the sky was always comforting to her. They were too alien to be from her home, and too bright to be in the Underdark. A silent reminder she was free from both.
When Bresthra turned her attention to him, she was a little surprised to see that the drow was studying her. Not in the guard like way he had before, sizing her up as a potential threat, but rather like one would look at something... bewildering. Strange or unexpected. Granted, she'd eyed him in almost the same light not a moment ago. How different they were for being cut of almost the same physical cloth. Pale hair, black skin, and red eyes. Though the shades were different, the similarities were hard to deny. Although he looked like he belonged in the scenery and she did not. Bresthra came from a typically cold climate, and as such, had bit of a resistance to colder weather. This mountain air was perfect. Comfortable. In Naratyr, a city in her abyssal home, it snowed all the time. Ice froze to the buildings like a second wall, and the wind tore from the Frozen Waste into the city with the bite only frost could have. It was cold, perpetually so. One did not live in Naratyr and have a low tolerance to it or they died. Even so, she'd came prepared with varying garments in her bag. One of the more useful inventions from her home. It could hold an endless amount, never changing shape or weight. Very useful.
She watched him walk past her with an amused quirk to her lips. Was he purposefully being so crafty in always walking so close to her, or was it continually a non-chalant habit of his. Whatever the reason, it was rather curious. Rather than ask, or inform him that if he wanted to be close, he could, Bresthra merely followed. Like a good little drow. She'd traveled enough that she was easily able to keep up and keep pace. Not the sort of gait she'd set if she were leading, but Bresthra wasn't so she conformed to his. She used this opportunity to peer about and continue her observation of their surroundings. Even though he did become a part of the scenery she happened to like watching the most. Bresthra had a healthy interest in someone that seemed as learned as he. At least when it came to nature. She'd never been able to connect like that, though she'd only made a mild attempt at it. The natural world was something that fascinated her, intrigued her, but not something she was so keenly interested in as to study. It was like magic, but a form of it she did not nor had no desire to learn. The display, the effect, was brilliant. But not in a millennia did Bresthra want to know why simply because that would ruin it for her. It was nice that something was so foreign to her that it remained stunning no matter how many times she saw it.
Because she was paying rather close attention to Hysaeda, she noted when he drew his scimitar. Bresthra made no outward sign that she'd noticed... and it didn't seem like he was trying to keep it from her. She turned her attention to their surroundings, and this time she really looked. Past the magic of the scenery, Bresthra tried to figure out what would make him decide to draw the blade. She would have used a spell, if she'd cared to really know. But her way of dealing with most threats was to wait and see what happened. Then, if necessary, destroy it with a bit of Necromancy. Bresthra only caught half glimpses of... something. Still she cast no spell. The thought didn't ever occur to her.
She was invested enough their surroundings that she made no effort to make conversation. There was a time and place for conversation, and while she was discovering new things... well, it could wait. Besides, with that blade drawn he seemed rather intent on... something.
Bresthra was suitably surprised when a werewolf revealed itself. Fear shot up her spine as she automatically thought of the worst case – that it was S'ric. If her Mother's Hound was sent after her, she'd have no choice but to step in between the two. And that was her first reaction. That her Mother's Hound was here, and that Hysaeda was about to die only because he'd been around her. That thought lasted as long as it took Hysaeda to swing his blade. Only then did Bresthra realize the beast before them was smaller than S'ric, dirtier, without those blue eye that froze Bresthra in place. No, it wasn't him.
Bresthra breathed a huge sigh of relief when Hysaeda decapitated the animal. She felt a small pang of sympathy. After all, werewolves were usually just hungry outcasts... but she wasn't about to wish the brute had been successful in his hopes of making a meal out of them. "Poor Bastard," she heard Hysaeda say as he started walking away. Bresthra had to agree. Her gaze went to him at the second half, when he'd finished with, "Come on, there's still much distance to cover before we get to a good spot." For as jumpy as he had been when they'd first met, he seemed to be fine with leading her now. Which actually made her smile as she thought about it. Bresthra prized herself on being... well, friendly. Sharess nor Bresthra took little delight in being scary, aggressive in a violent way, or appearing threatening. Life was too good for all that. What she and her goddess shared was a want of pleasure. Was the desire to live fully, experience much, and enjoy themselves. In lots of different ways. "My champion," Bresthra teased a little as she quickened her pace to actually walk next to him. As sad as the dead werewolf was, at least he'd acted for the betterment of both of them. She remained close, silent, and no longer interested in the scenery. There was something much more fascinating right next to her.