Afraid of towels? Not likely, Zorvan thought as he followed the mage wordlessly. He didn't fear much, not even where'd go when he died. There was no debate the hells existed, he'd heard enough stories of demons and devils to not believe in them. He wasn't so sure about the heavens as he followed no god.
He wondered what the mage believed, then, staring at the back of her head as he walked. She was hunted for a tool she employed, her husband killed. It was a dangerous tool, no doubt about that. But like a sword or a dagger, even magic was good in the right hands.
Zorvan wasn't sure what to think of her, she was, after all, hiring the same race of those who hunt her.