The young woman looked uncomfortable at his approach, at first, and the worry that this connection might be something to be held against him arose. But she did not leave, and after a moment's uncertain silence her answer came with a cautious smile.
His brows rose just slightly as she spoke, but recognition flickered in the knight's blue eyes. "I remember, now," he answered, tone shaded with apology. He would not flatter himself to think that he had saved so many that one face was lost among many other--rather, when he happened upon another in his travels, he did not take the time to commit their face to memory. The solitary knight would never see them again, after all--or that was the thought.
"I am sorry I did not recognize you. It was dark," he went on, feeling foolish for offering the excuse once it was said. Yes, it was coming back, now--the messenger on the horse, beset by mercenaries...the young woman trembling over the first blood on her hands. That is what the sight of Azabeth's pale, ill face had reminded him of. The event was five years ago, but embarrassingly enough it was the horse that rooted it in his memory.
"It was Lillian who saved you this time," Ordhan went on, almost smiling. His eyes softened. "I am very glad that you are well, now." It was a stretch to describe her as such. Lillian had all but brought her back from the dead.