Meteion's brow furrows a little, but she watches the tall man even as his expression shifts through a few different emotions--at such a far remove, that they give her no information. It does put her, briefly, into a memory of Hermes.

"I don't think they'll let us escape," she responds, voice low as well. Barely above a whisper, really. "They have those whips."

Whips that Meteion is all too familiar with, if only because the soldiers seem to fear that she will escape. Not that she's figured out how to fly again. Otherwise, they'd be right to fear escape. Or...something else.

Not that compliance seemed any better. "Have you heard what they speak of?"