Integra takes a moment to wipe her sword down against her coat (it's not as if there's any grass in the center of the city, and she's not about to hop down and dig about for a clean rag) as she observes him. She thought she might have been able to place his manner of dress as she zipped by the first time, but on closer inspection, it's plainly unfamiliar. But that isn't entirely surprising, in this place.

She nods, a silent echo of his greeting, and slides her blade back into its scabbard. "Are you well, soldier?" He looks like he's in one piece well enough, if a little green around the gills. She can't help but note that it's a bit of a faith-bolstering mini-apocalypse, this whole ordeal. It's nice running into so many strangers being helpful. She thought she already knew every useful person in Baedal, depressingly small as that number might be.