Peter didn't know - or care - what had drawn Phaedra to him. She had saved his life, and much as she might have been dangerous because of what she was, she was still his people. Still romany.
Her laugh was a little startling, teeth white in the darkness and wickedly pointed. it was still an infectious laugh, enough to have him grinning in return. He watched her laughing, easy and carefree, taking a slow drag on the remains of his cigarette.
"Battering ram?" He asked, quirking an eyebrow. She looked like she barely topped 120 pounds soaking wet. But having said that he had seen her move. If she went through doors the way she'd flowed through the crowd the other night...yeah. He could see that.
"Shoes are overrated," he told her, leaning back on his hands on the cart, tossing his head to flick his bangs out of his eyes. He wiggled his toes thoughtfully, uncaring that they were covered in dirt, flecks of grass and dry twigs from the walk. His mom had despaired of ever getting him to keep shoes on when he was a kid. Even now it didn't bother him; couldn't, considering he changed once a month and usually ended up walking naked through the woods.