Her natural grace falters somewhat as she shifts the odd device into the same hand that holds a map she doesn't know how to read, but reappears as she happily places a small hand in his. A trusting creature, the dryade is not at all concerned for her safety, for she has never needed to fear for it, save where satyrs are involved. He is not a satyr, therefore she has no fear.

"Remy..." She tries out the shortened version of the name he'd told her. It doesn't sound Greek at all. "I can walk perfectly well, I think. Are you a traveller? I cannot recall hearing a name such as yours, and I have met a great many people."

That number is relative, of course.