The response was a half victory, because Imenry did answer, but then she was again walking in front of Elsa, who had to lift her skirts and hurry to keep up. She felt the forest floor under her thin leather soles, twigs and pebbles in the manner she had gotten used to during her wanderings. When they stopped she glanced around her again, but saw only trees she could not names and no living creature.
"I have a knife," she said, taking it out of her bag and holding it in her hands. It still made her uncomfortable, the metal so silvery and untarnished, and yet she had a feeling that the pristine surface hid something darker that she could not recall. It felt somewhat familiar in her hand, but not the way that magic had felt. Compared to Imenry's huge sword, it seemed dainty, exotic even. When Imenry suggested that she would want to stay back in a battle, a little sound escaped her, not quite a rude snort but close enough. While she feared men, knights, she did not fear battle. Quite the opposite. The notion that she was going to stay back, let someone else do the fighting and look on from a distance was...dull. It was wrong, she ought not to feel that way, but it did not change the fact that she did. "Davvero? Is that what mages usually do here?" she asked, voice half curious, half piqued. Weighing the dagger in her hands, she looked at it thoughtfully.
Elsa pondered what to say for a moment, and finally came to the conclusion that the truth - or part of it - would do little harm at the moment. Clearly her new teacher did not trust her much either. She needed to give some to get some, maybe. "I'm from where I last put down my foot," she began, half smiling, her dark voice lilting. "I know no home or country, I know of no family or friends, I know...nothing."