The paranoia of the Underdark still served well, even on the surface. The feelings of being watched were impossible to ignore as he followed Zarraema, still a pace behind. The nattering of the other was becoming a problem as it made his normally keen hearing all but useless. He shifted his position in a step to be fully behind his Mistress as he carried their things, better that he should catch a blade in the back instead of her.
His eyes scanned subversively through the crowds, as only a slave of the Underdark could. To look without looking was the best defense in a place where torment and abuse were just the way of life. The condition of the temple was lost on him, ignored because it was not his place to speculate on it. Temples meant sacrifice, and for him it was doubly dangerous as the priestesses of Lolth would frequently pick a random slave to place on the altar and cut out their heart with the eight bladed knives.