Nitwit frowns at him. It may not look like a frown on a human face, but he gets the distinct impression that she's not happy with him. She takes a few nudges to get moving again, but she seems to know exactly where she's supposed to be going.

And she grumbles at him under her breath the entire way back. The thoat keeper is in the process of repairing the pickets she slipped under and laughs at the two of them as they walk up.

"She is going to be a handful, that one. Far too clever for her own good." The Thark pushes himself up to standing, his expression far less bellicose than most of the warriors Edgar has met. He extends a hand, in the American fashion. "I am Majat Mataseen. I am pleased to meet you, Sark-Iljat. It is not every day one meets a descendant of Dotar Sojat."