[Whatever shadow of a threat his appearance stirs up in the back of her mind, that place where instinct dwelled and she thought with her skin, that look goes a long way toward lessening its power. Werewolves — the murderous ones, full of feral hunger and hate — never smiled like that.]

You don't have to! [A polite "after you" gesture; they could talk along the way, she reasons.] ....But if it wouldn't be too much trouble, I'd actually appreciate anything, uh, sword-y you could show me. I used to hit things with one too, before ending up here, and I'm kinda worried about getting rusty.

[A wand, a feather, her bare hands.....it's not the same thing at all.]