[Once more, his eyes flick back up to Oz's horns, as though mention of his race (Au Ra, he is quick to commit that to memory, too) gives him permission to be more obvious about his curiosity. Imposing, grandiose. He hardly knows what to think of them, other than it lends Oz a fierceness that would be enviable to most warriors on the battlefield. He assumes the talent is not beyond him, of course, not with a hefty sword like that.]

There certainly aren't any of your kind in Fódlan. Those horns are remarkable and difficult to miss...

[He feels the need to continue, like the information between them should be shared equally, as comfortable as he's already fallen into this exchange. His smile remains on his features, polite and considerate enough for someone flinging more questions his way.]

Do you all possess them? They look a bit like a dragon's. And I do mean that as a compliment. I’m merely human, myself.