[h3]Freagon, Irah, Lhirin, and Yanin – Upstairs Guest Bedroom, Bor Manor, Borstown[/h3]
After Irah's rather lengthy speech, Caleb spent a moment simply staring at her before replying: “You presume much, Deo'irah,” he said bluntly, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “What I can agree with is that actions matter. I said I would help with the bandits in Feevesha's honor, and that is as far as I will go for pretty words.”

To Yanin's question of whether the thalk preferred to live in exile, Caleb shrugged answered: “It is how it is; I cannot currently change my situation. I am shunned in the divine realms, and I am feared and hated in the Corerealm. Eternity lies before me, things will inevitably change, but I can only exist in the present.”

Ultimately the topic turned to more current concerns as Yanin determined that they would soon have to deal with the baroness and asked Irah to do the talking. Irah, in turn, inquired as to whether their approach should be based on diplomacy or subterfuge, with the implied practical choice being whether to to be upfront about Caleb's nature or to try to hide it.
Though he did not directly say it, the Knight of the Glades' arguments were clearly in favor of honesty.
Freagon, whose gaze had slowly drifted to the window next to him which he had spent most of the conversation staring out of in silence, finally turned his attention back to the room. “'Death before dishonor, dishonor before disloyalty,'” he grumbled, quoting two lines of the code of the Knighthood of the Will. “We currently work for Bor; the honorable and loyal thing to do would be telling the truth.”
Caleb nodded in agreement over in his corner. “I could disguise myself as long as I stand still, but as soon as I move I will not have the energy to do so; she would discover my nature sooner or later. If she takes offense, simply kill me.”

Regardless of whether there was more to be said or done among themselves, there was no time; barely had the divine's True Words come over his lips before the diminutive form of the penin woman they had met outside the manor stepped into the doorway. She was still wielding her crossbow with a bolt loaded and ready to be loosed in an instant, the weapon raised and her fingers on the trigger lever.
She did not aim the weapon at anyone in particular, however, but seemed to merely hold it in her hands as her eyes instantly darted to the fallen angel in the corner, upon which her shoulders seemed to immediately sag. She let her gaze sweep over the room left to right quickly, taking in the scene before her and everyone's demeanor, until looking at Freagon's relaxed stance, bored expression, sheathed sword and unequipped helmet.
The crossbow dropped as her entire posture shifted from wary and combat-ready to exhausted and disheartened in a second. “[abbr=Penin for “impurity”. Also an expletive, similar in usage to “shit”.][I]G'vaas[/I][/abbr],” she muttered under her breath. She looked at the thalk again, though she seemed to have aged several decades in the couple of seconds that had passed since seeing him the first time. “I presume you're Caleb.”
Caleb recoiled slightly, clearly surprised to hear those words. “You know of me?”
“Feevesha told me about you,” the woman explained with a slight nod of her head, though she moved as though she barely had the energy to do even that. “Foolish girl... I warned her about piaan.”
She closed her eyes in resignation and asked: “Is it over?”