His silhouette is distinctive, his facial features just as much so (even without the one eye), but the style of armor and the scorched grass do help solidify the conclusion she's made.

She doesn't expect to be recognized. That would actually be bad; god or not, he's not Wakandan and the less outsiders know of the inner workings of her country, the better. If King T'Challa wants to introduce them to the Westerners, well enough, but you're not meant to know someone before you've been introduced.

"And do you always train alone?" She has a small smile, just for a moment. "On such a beautiful day?"

She falls back into a more serious countenance as she approaches him, peering curiously at the weapons he's got on the ground behind him. Not guns. Good. There is no elegance at all in a gun.

Her bearing is a blend of dancer, general, and queen. Back straight, head high, shoulders back. She looks like she could take flight like a bird or spring like a cat at any second. "Where I come from, we train in groups."

The Dora Milaje is a sisterhood, in a way. They can each stand their ground alone, but they're at their best when they're fighting fluidly together.