He met her when she rescued him from a fiend that had him trapped against a sand dune, dazzling light glinting off her machina weapons as the fiend shattered into clouds of pyreflies. She knelt beside him in silence, her head bowed, and poured something on his wounds that didn't feel like a potion but healed him nonetheless.
"Thank you," he said. "I'm Braska."
"I am called Senna," she said, and her Spiran was careful and deliberate, with only a faint trace of an accent. She would not look at him, but beneath her sun-streaked brown hair, her profile was lovely. She helped him up. "You are from the Bevelle delegation."
"Yes, but I seem to have gotten separated from them."
"It is easy to get lost here." She looked at him from beneath her hair--she was tiny, barely coming up to his shoulder--and he could just barely see the spiral shape of her eyes through her dense bangs. They were strange, but mesmerizing.
"I am lucky you found me. Thank you again."
She nodded and turned away. "Home is this way."