Regan was on her way to a bath. She’d had to get used to doing many things around Othello, but bathing was one thing she still was able to keep for herself. Much like a mother and child, she scheduled bathtime for the both of them; partially so that she had a built-in break and partially so Othello would be forced to wash. Standards for cleanliness in Coheed, she’d learned, were much different than those in Nevermere. But Othello was changing his habits, one bath at a time.

With a towel and pack over her shoulder, Regan marched along, keeping her eyes up and meeting the gazes of those she passed. She was changing her own habits; Cassian had placed her in a position of leadership—however a precarious position it was at the moment—and she intended to make herself worthy of respect. Not just respectable, but approachable—something she’d never been in all her life.

She was rounding a corner when her forced half-pleasant expression dropped to a flat mouth and a furrowed brow. Regan’s footsteps slowed as her gaze fell upon the swirling shadow that, at first, she assumed was some sort of summoning. But it wasn’t long before she saw Zevran and that theory was discarded. She recognized him from their arrival in Nevermere. Regan stepped forward in curiosity, drawn to the strange, beautiful display.

“You’re one of the Dresmondi,” Regan said after standing there for a moment in a dumb statement of fact. She quickly recognized the obvious statement for what it was and started to turn pink.

Completely startled out of his fight with the imaginary foe, Zevran eyes went wide as he lost his grip on one of his daggers and it thudded to the ground, skittering towards Rune. Rune was also startled, a loud yelp coming from her as she popped up onto her feet to avoid the dagger and to also round on their new visitor, her hair standing on end.

It took Zevran a few beats longer to realize he recognized the soldier who had spoken to him, and another moment yet to realize that he'd definitely made a fool of himself by losing his dagger after a little scare. Clearing his throat, he scrambled after the wayward dagger, then shoved them both into the harness on his back. "Yes, I am. My name is Zevran. I believe we met briefly when we first arrived?"

He tossed one of his toothy grins her way as Rune finally calmed down enough to sit next to him, her head tilting as she looked at the woman. 'This is the one that growled that day in the palace.' Zevran's gaze jumped to Rune and back to the soldier again, the full memory of that tense meeting coming back to him. She did look a bit flustered at the moment.

Keeping his grin plastered on his face in an attempt at remaining friendly, he waved around them. "I'm sorry if we're in the way here, I thought I'd picked a spot far enough away to not be a bother to anyone."

Regan startled as they did, jumping back as molten amber surged in her eyes before retreating back to darkness. Embarrassed, she straightened her uniform as Zevran picked up his dagger. Her eyes dropped momentarily to the fox, a growl itching at the back of her throat before it was swiftly banished.

When her eyes returned to Zevran, whatever wolfiness had been summoned dropped into the background. As surely as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, the handsome Dresmondi grinned at Regan, and her cheeks started to turn pink.

“No, I—” Regan protested before she coughed. “No, it’s me that’s disturbing you. I just saw the shadows. What you can do it’s…” She searched for a word before stumbling and stubbing her metaphorical toe on: “Beautiful.”

Zevran's grin turned sheepish at the compliment and he shrugged lightly. Running a hand through his hair, he glanced down at Rune who had relaxed a bit more at his feet. "Thank you. It continues to surprise me that you all find it interesting. You witches are so much more powerful, after all."

Bending to pick up his nearby flask of water, he took a swallow before turning his attention back to soldier. "The shadows are entirely harmless when compared to the creatures I've seen summoned by a witch. Awful things." He shuddered just thinking about the flying monstrosity Alys forced him to ride across the canyon.

Regan grinned back, still rosy-cheeked but starting to relax from her initial fluster. “Guess anything you’re not used to is impressive,” She said in an awkward grumble, “Or frightening. More likely both.” She supposed that went both ways. After all, the Dresmondi were nothing more than a distant tale, a figment of the collective imagination. Now, here one was, flesh and blood, magic and all.

“A witch?” Regan tilted her head a little. “You mean Alys?” It was the logical conclusion to make. She and Grant had brought them back, after all.

Nodding, he let the flask of water drop to the ground and crossed his arms across his chest. "Yeah, Alys. There's this giant canyon between Dresmond and the rest of Terra Nova. She summoned this awful flying creature that we rode across the canyon. Most terrifying moment of my life." He shuddered just recalling the memory.

Then he motioned at Regan, "I suppose you're probably someone who's pretty important around here? Since you came in with the King when we first arrived." He was more or less asking about whatever title it was he had to add to his memorized list.

"Yeah, Alys is, uh, really something." Her tone was neutral enough. Truth be told, Regan herself didn't know what she meant by that, so it would be near impossible for anyone else to be able to tell.

Regan’s cheeks burned a little hotter as she averted her eyes for a moment, kicking at the ground a little. “Uh, yeah. I guess. I don’t know, depends on who you ask.” Remembering herself, she straightened up suddenly and extended her hand.

“Regan Lassiter. King’s Huntsman.”

He had watched her closely during her response, trying to gauge her reaction. Clearly, there was something amiss between Regan and Alys. But it was probably none of his business anyway.

He glanced at her hand briefly before taking it, giving it a squeeze and a small shake before he quirked a brow. "King's Huntsman? Well that's definitely an interesting title. Can I ask what you do as the Huntsman? I hope it's more interesting than all of these politicians roaming around."

Regan grinned, a playful sparkle emerging in her eye. “I hunt,” she responded with a chuckle, pleased at her own cleverness. Remembering this was someone she had just only met, she cleared her throat before answering the question more seriously.

“Sometimes the king needs things, people tracked down. Taken care of. That’s, uh, a specialty of mine.” Regan tilted her head to the side, looking contemplatively at Zevran. “I imagine it won’t be long before the Eldouir make the list."

Zevran's eyebrows shot up before his face crinkled into a grin, realizing the trap he had walked into. He chuckled and rubbed at the back of his neck. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense now that I think about it."

He straightened as she looked at him more closely, his eyes darkening at her words. "Yeah, I hope they will be. They certainly need to be on someone's list anyway." He tilted his head the same way she had. "So you're in favor of helping Dresmond, then?"

Regan’s brow pinched together in comically serious consideration of his question. Truth be told, she wasn’t much of a thinker. She didn’t unpack the different elements of right and wrong that went into decision-making. Her considerations were purely strategic; how to best accomplish the mission she’d been given.

“I go where the king points,” Regan finally said with a shrug, “If he’s in favor of it, so am I.” She paused for a moment, a strange expression capturing her features. “I, uh,” Regan cleared her throat. “I’ve met Hiram Eldouir before. Fought him—twice, I guess. Once in Lorendale and once in Coheed. I, uh,” she pursed her lips, “I can only imagine what your people have suffered.”

His eyes scanned Regan from head to toe, considering her as she spoke about Hiram. If she had fought the Eldouirs and lived to tell the tale, it made sense that she held a position high enough to answer directly to their king.

His eyes found hers again and he grimaced, "That whole family is an abomination. The only thing they know how to do is take and destroy. And they're so good at it. They're terrifying." He ran a hand down his face, shaking his head. So terrifying that he had originally run away before growing enough of a pair to return.

Regan’s wolf stirred a little as if wakening to the thread that Zevran described. The look in his eyes was enough to make your blood run cold, but instead of chilling Regan burned. Defeating the Eldouir was a holy quest. She believed Nevermere would take the day (how could she believe anything else?) but she knew it would come at a price. A steep one, no doubt.

“We’re better.” Regan’s gaze was dark and her answer absolute.