"Khajiit will see to the him."

The priestess didn't seem to to take that suggestion well. Perhaps it was that he growled it in the low baritone of bloodlust; perhaps it was that both his fists were clenched and his stance was ready for a fight; perhaps it was—no, she was looking down now, her eyebrow arched delicately upward in confusion and her lips puckered in frustration. The only guest in Dibella's shrine often stayed overnight, meditating, apparently. The priestess had tolerated the nude feline intruder into her nightly rituals and, of late, had even welcomed him, sometimes sitting beside him to meditate. They did not speak much, but they rarely needed to. Contemplation was its own form of communion, in a shrine like this.

But now, another naked man—this one furless, and drunk, and stinking of all manner of things to Qanar-dar's nose—was lying in the middle of the floor, where he had collapsed after a swift bat to the solar plexus from a Khajiit's paw. It hadn't been a hard hit, but the man was so drunk that he had toppled over, vomited, and then passed out. Qanar'dar had been afraid, when the man had suddenly appeared; now he was angry. The priestess did not take this show of territoriality well, though, judging by the look she was giving him. Even a Cathay knew that look from a shaved one. He thought to explain.

"Khajiit will see to the intruder," he said again, defensive confusion creeping into his voice. Did she not wish to know he would protect the shrine, in thanks for being allowed to pray here? He tilted his head and looked at her with plaintive eyes. "Do you not wish me to see to him for you?"