Zane nodded to her retort, "I'm sorry, Miss. I shall leave you then." The Cirque held so many personality types that he accepted the answer she gave and would not fight it. He saw no threat in her, even with the blades and predatory look in her eyes. He could sense the uncertainty flicker in her emotions; who could blame her for it?
Having turned, he stared out the tent at the climbing sun with his own uncertainty until she asked him his name. "Zephaniah Jones, though many refer to me as Zane."