Ashraf paused, his dark eyes sweeping a quick assessment of the figure come into sight before him. Wrapped — against the sands for travel, he might think, but this was excessive. The day had been mostly placid and still. He'd know, having traveled it himself. Perhaps then it was some ailment or disfigurement kept hidden. It was what served as a greeting that set him at ease, and the brief wariness that had stilled his gait left him again. Whoever spoke such would have some attachment to the temple, which made him someone Ashraf was glad to meet.

"I'm afraid it already has been," he called back, his voice as clear and earnest as his face. The beard couldn't detract from the regret the damaged temple had written there, and he came to a stop a respectful ten or so feet back. Of middling height, Ashraf's well-worked muscle was deceptively lean, easily hidden under the drape of his heavy traveling wrap. He didn't cut a particularly intimidating figure, particularly not with a bucket and rag at his side.

"But I haven't confirmed it yet. Do you keep this temple?" He looked ready with sympathy, only waiting to extend it.