What a strange, rather extraordinary young woman. She looked at him unwaveringly, unafraid and undaunted, every inch the stereotype of flame-haired. After all, in this class-conscious world of theirs it was the very height of brave to regard a man like Baron Crossridge and talk as if they were fast friends already. Djura found this interesting, and — he supposed — refreshing. Of course he'd rather be alone (wouldn't they all?), but her strange company was certainly preferable to those seething masses.

"That's good", Djura replied, not hesitating to admit that he had been wrong and she had taught him something new. More often than not, the best days came with a good lesson. "Although one can't help but wonder why something can't be done about the poachers." If aforementioned men could not have their striped curiosities, surely they would just find new creatures to terrorise, and thus there would be more victims to "rescue" by tearing them from their natural habitat.