Aethril wasn't too fond of most of the visitors to the palace, but not once did she ever say anything to Isra or Eggbert about it. The duckling genuinely enjoyed new company and he enjoyed his tasks around the palace even more. Isra was a bit of a different story, but like most cats, the Valkhound needed enrichment. She deserved it after thousands of years of... not much happening at all.

She preferred to avoid the visitors herself. She'd stay well out of their way, slinking behind barriers or shutting herself in the library when it was busy. But it was rarely busy.

The palace wasn't quite what it used to be. Aethril found herself, at times, missing the presence of other Hands. She didn't very much like the idea of being trapped in the Nest alone, but at least Lord Dhracia was visiting on occasion.

Regardless, when she saw an elf in the foyer, it was the first time in a long time she approached a stranger with the intention of just talking-- but she knew, instinctively on getting closer, that something was off. This one's clothes were... hm. Primitive. The tail felt quite off-putting as well.

She wondered, briefly, if it were a failed attempt. There was a click-click-click as she approached and "don't touch," she said with her nose pointed upwards at the very presence of Attikias, as though deeming him Stinky.

"Who made you?" Was her nest question, damn near accusatory in tone.

Nur. What a joke.

Aethril looked down her nose at the extended hand. She did not take it, her own hands clasped in front of her corset and remained there. "In the kitchen," she responded softly, with a tone that indicated frost might as well be rolling from her lips. "Where he always is."

Another glance over his hand. "Aethril," she finally introduced herself. "Valkhand. Do you happen to be working for Master Vargas, in that case?"

This question could as well have been 'is Vargas going to get mad if something happens to you?' with the way her tone never faltered from that iciness. Why this thing was here-- surely not just the Natural Order --was eluding her and more importantly: frustrating her.

He should at least have washed his hands before entering.

Usra raid? On Dontacael? Interesting.

"I assume it didn't go well," she said. "This is the first time I'm hearing about it." Isra had said there was likely a Clearstone spire in Usra, somewhere-- and considering neither her nor Vargas had mentioned it since, it must still be at large.

It didn't matter if it wasn't that much of a priority to Isra. It was a plague on Aethril's mind all the same.

Her head tilted. "Is it a crime, now, to incite casual conversation?" The Hand's tone would be teasing, playful, if her chin wasn't still lifted like a well-bred animal, if her eyes weren't narrow and sharp. "And if so, tell me, who elected you as warden?"

His nur, perhaps? Laughable.