What is your name?
After her initial answer comes in the form as nothing else but pure unadulterated silence (perhaps her mind is still reeling from the shock), I pose the question once more. Skimming my hands lightly across her forehand, I can practically feel the cold that leeches off her body- a cold that I had formerly dismissed as little more than a product of the weather. But knowing what I know now, it is starting to feel a little more than that.
"Come on," I chide, scanning her face for any signs of recognition that my words have reached her. "You are an assassin are you not? Surely you have been trained in the ways of halflings? They became quite the problem some while back."
Squeaking a little, the girl shifts on her haunches. With quivering fingers, she runs her hands through her hair.