The answer - so confident, so certain - made Elsa ask herself one thing she had not once thought about before. How old was she? She had seen her own face in the water and in the uneven surfaces of glass windows, but in truth she had no idea. She had none of the experience and recollections that would make a life time, and she could not guess. Looking down on her hands, lifting her skirts over a dark patch on the ground - blood? - she tried to guess, but her hands were smooth, untouched by age or manual labour, and offered few clues. At least she was fairly certain that she was older than Roran.
Shaking her head slighly, Elsa shook off the depressing thoughts and tried to focus on their disjointed discussion. She guessed they were drawing nearer to the Aghas family's house, and looked around her curiously.
"My feet," she said decisively, trying to infuse her smile with enough charm to get away with the vague response. She did not really want to give the girl one over her by supplying the information that she had not even known the villages name until that moment. "It seems a good enough place," she offered, even though she did not think so at all. It was small, it smelt badly and just a few hours ago it had been attacked. "Have you lived here all your life?" She adjusted her light leather satchel over her shoulder and focused on walking.