The man was young. He could've been a mazoi given his age and apparent health, at first glance, but Aiesha did not recognize him from those that trained in the arena. She had certainly never met him for a spar—but that didn't mean much. She had recently returned home and this man could have only just arrived—then again, he looked very at-ease.

I should be the one saying that, came her rejoinder—...were you hunting? I thought I heard something move, so... I am sorry if I ruined the moment. She didn't smell blood, and he did not appear to be in pursuit of anything except a warm patch of sun, which was plentiful.

The darkness cut beneath his figure and made it clear to Aiesha this was not a dream, as dream-like as it felt. She absently looked down at her paws, a little bit bashful, and realized—oh, where was her shadow? Her brow furrowed, and after a blink she decided not to think very hard about it.

Better to focus on her present company. She was just... Tired.

My name is Aiesha. I don't think we've met, sir...? Yes, force the conversation. That's precisely what a diplomat-in-training should do when meeting new people.