Oh it's so strange to have the Chelish soldiers as allies against people who he should in some sense be closer to.  (Not that he knows this fort very well, or has gotten a particularly friendly impression of it.)  But he does like them.  They're strange and closed-down and protective and he thinks they're good people, in a sense that matters, if not the only one.

He gives them a relieved and much less flailing smile, and ignores the Mendevians for the moment.  "Yes, of course.  I meant her no disrespect and am not about to start."

He gets a short nod from the older man, and the squad leader stands.  "All right, you lot, time we saw to the horses."  He does not actually heave a tired sigh.

It's a clear morning, colder than yesterday with a bit of easterly wind, but not too bad. The track south is wide enough for two horses abreast comfortably, so with the Mendevian patrol in their usual order and the two Chelish soldiers silently claiming rearguard, that puts Marcus next to the cleric until their next reshuffle. She offers him a small smile once the horses are settled into their traveling pace. "Good morning, again."  She sits her horse (a placid gelding with one white sock) a little awkwardly, not a complete novice but clearly more used to a different gait, and not born in the saddle to that either.

Oh good, she's not upset with him.  "Good morning!" He smiles back, then watches her curiously for a couple of seconds, distracted.  Why does she hold herself like that... "Oh, right, camels?  What you were used to back home, I mean."

He does ride like he was born in the saddle himself – on a pretty mare not quite the standard Worldwound issue, well-behaved but making it clear she'd be very happy to go faster.

She ducks her head, smile briefly turning sheepish.  "It's so obvious?  And yes, we've horses also in Osirion but camels are better suited to the desert."

... Oh good, she wasn't insulted, but maybe he should be a little more careful about saying whatever pops into his head.  "I don't know if it's that obvious, my family was just very into riding. I tried camels a few times, it's fascinating how different they are. I've never seen a real desert, though."

"It's not so unlike up here in winter, except terribly hot instead of terribly cold- you've seen how the snow blows into, um,"  she mimes mounded drifts, searching for the word, "piles?  Sand does that too, as big as buildings out in the deepest desert."

"Drifts, and with sand I think it's usually dunes?"  He hopes she's not insulted by being supplied with vocabulary! She's a Nethysian, so probably not.  "I think I prefer the cold, but it sounds like a fascinating sight. Do you miss it?"

Evidently not, as she repeats "snow drifts, sand dunes" to herself, and nods firmly.  "I- don't miss the desert.  It was only where the work was.  The city, yes, sometimes.  And the people."  She looks a little surprised by the question, but not like it's unwelcome.

"Ah.  I'm the other way around – I miss the mountains but not the people."  Rueful smile.  

"Ahh."  Small understanding smile.  "What were the mountains like, where you come from?  I'd heard in places with enough rain, they've trees all up the sides?"

"Yes!  Well, trees up to-- it's even called the treeline, that's how obvious and straight it is sometimes.  Dense trees up to a point, then usually grass a ways higher than that, then bare rock where nothing will grow except lichen.  And then snow up on top, year-round on the tallest mountains.  We'd try to climb up there in the summer, bring some down."  He looks very fond of the place, when he talks about it. 

"Even in summer?  That's incredible... we've no snow at all, except we make it of course- what keeps it from melting?  Just the wind?"  

"I don't think it's really the wind but I'm not sure!  Something about the air maybe?  There's definitely something going on with the air.  If you don't live in the mountains and aren't an adventurer, you can't breathe right when you get too high up."  Presumably Nethys knows how it all works.

"Huh!"  This is fascinating and she has so many questions.  "Just everywhere all the time, not choking fog or any such?  And those who live there are unaffected?  Humans, or something different, or all kinds?"

"Everywhere all the time if it's high up enough!  I've never tried carrying a lowland chicken up the mountain to see how it feels about the air, but perhaps I should try it next time," grin.

Giggle.  "They say dwarves can survive deeper underground than humans, I wondered if there might be- opposite dwarves that can live higher up.  Taldor is mostly human also, yes?  Osirion's nearly all human save the coasts, we survive the heat best."

"I have not met any opposite dwarves and wouldn't be sure how to recognize one.  I barely met any of the other races growing up – Taldor is mostly human, yes.  Why, what happens to humans deep underground?  I thought they just got eaten by monsters."

"Hm, I actually don't know?  But I shouldn't expect monsters to think dwarves less tasty, at least not enough to matter, so I doubt it's just that?"

"Maybe there's also something going on with the air?  Sounds like the sort of thing that'd happen underground."  But it doesn't seem like either of them knows anything else useful on this question.  He looks around for a moment, and pats his horse calmingly when she takes this as a possible prelude to running somewhere.

"So, if I may ask, who do you miss from home?  Do they know you're here, with how unexpectedly it happened?"

Khalida's barely parsed the question when she's hit with an unexpected wave of homesickness, oddly not so much for the Broken Crocodile as for her father's house, even farther gone.  She has to turn away for a minute and stare out at the tundra until her eyes stop stinging.  (Wow, fuck, she really viscerally understands now why the soldiers mostly don't talk about their pasts, imagine coming over like this at Eighteen...)  

Focus.  Breathe.  She is not a child and if she can't have one normal conversation without getting stuck she can at least do it without bursting into tears and worrying the paladin and also her remaining squadmates.  ...right, there were two questions.  She can handle answering the second one anyway. 

"No.  They don't."  Breathe.  Assemble the sentence.  "Omar wrote to his landlady.  The ranger of my party.  But it can't have arrived yet."

oh NO.  If he makes her cry, her men are going to stab him in his sleep. 

"I'm sorry," gently.  "For whatever it is that happened."

(His landlady??  That's such a stupid question, he can't say that.)

"... I argued with my father so badly that he told me to never come back.  Wrote to me just to say that he meant it, when I wrote to tell him where I was."

" 'm sorry too,"  she manages.  "For yours."

"I didn't argue.  Just left."

"Thank you," still quietly.

"May have been the right call.  And... I don't know if you want to talk about it.  It helps sometimes."  It probably helps more if it's with someone you didn't only meet yesterday.  But he's having trouble imagining any of the Chelish soldiers being the right person, either.

Shrug, and a quiet laugh that turns into a hiccup.

"I've found myself here, in the end, so I suppose.  Dumbass of me, though.  I'd thought I could make my way as a laundry wizard."