Mordecai whipped his staff round, pointing it directly at the girl. The knight's comments were almost unheard - the child could be dangerous.

The end of his stave glinted in the moonlight. Unbeknownst to most, embedded in the tip was a splinter of the Cross. How he came about it, he would never tell. But what it could do - well, that was a different matter.

He studied her eyes, her face, her small, concerned movements. Deadly silence descended on the four, including the dragon. Then his own eyes widened in realisation.
"Child." He whispered - in Latin, it was evident that she was European. "Forgive me. You are no sorceress." Mordecai paused, and took a breath. "Yet there is something strange about you, something, [i]different[/i]." To the man he turned, and said; "Worthy Knight, my deepest apologies. I thought you were in danger." He marked with favour the cross on his breast. 

To the dragon, he said; "Nobel dragon, excuse my rudeness. Greetings, I am Mordecai. I am sure you can decipher from what language my name comes from. Please, do not spread it around!"