"War occurs apart from society, my lady, and--" Koltira's head turned at the sound of the familiar voice.

"Bal'a dash, Tom," he said. Images of their past meeting rose up to the surface of his memory--the boy's fall, Koltira catching him and setting him carefully on the city's cement sidewalks. He noted that, although the young man was clearly not one of the usual residents of this city, that he was, like Koltira and Liadrin, one of the 'imPorted', he wore the flimsy cloth outfits favored by the majority population. "Perhaps you can offer us some advice on all of this."

He gestured to the mannequins with a sweeping motion of his hand. "We are somewhat at a loss."