[Grell's answer satisfied him. In truth, he was confident that Grell could become powerful. Perhaps, too powerful. And that both intrigued and worried him. It would not, however, dissuade him from making use of her.

But Ariadne was another matter. She was clay. A clay that he thought could be molded into something strong or, if allowed, stay soft and ultimately useless. So he nodded to Grell, making his agreement known. It gave him the time to address the younger girl.]

I come from a vast desert, Ariadne. A bitter and harsh land, where only those with strength and determination survive. You might, perhaps, think that I disparage you for your size or perhaps even your sex. You are mistaken, then. My people, the Gerudo, are a race made wholly in the image of our gods. Every one of them a woman, save for one male born every hundred years. Me. But whilst our neighbors in their fairer lands think women to be weak, my sisters know better. I disparage you, girl, because you are soft. Untested. I see potential in you or I would not waste my breath on you. I would see that potential drawn out. Not only because you wish to be stronger or to simply survive, but because you crave a strength you do not yet know.