“Huh…that Dahlia is a wanderer…” the man murmurs, his eyes drifting away from her as he reflects. An idea strikes him and he looks back to his assailant. “So… supper’s in an hour. Why not join us?”

    “Why would I do that? Just give me what I need and I won’t cut your throat,” she replies, deeply suspicious and increasingly bewildered by his attitude.

    “...I think you need to spent a night with a roof over your head after a proper meal,” he continues. “...And maybe we address… whatever’s going on with your face. No offense, but I can smell the death on that wound. It must be painful.” The woman looks startled by his kindness. She turns her face from him to hide the oozing wound on the side of her face and missing ear. Still, he seems to be getting through to her. “I swear on my life, I’m not trying to trick you. Just know a lost soul when I see one.” Her grip relaxes slightly and he manages to slip his hand around hers and lower the point of the knife away from his neck. “I’m Sanctuary,” he says.