Hoshor Plains made simple intricate paper bloom bleed red

He dismisses her apologies, bringing a faint smile to her expression as he mirrors her excuse. "I find," Poet says, tone slightly wistful, "summer is when my thoughts most wandered. Perhaps that is what compels us to travel physically too." She tilts her head, offering a thoughtful look, unsure if he will indulge her conversation. He has not tried to move past despite her allowance and so she assumes he does not mind company for the moment, at least. To that point, "my name is Poet," she tells him, taking a seat. Her tail comes to rest across the tips of her paws daintily, expression curious as she waits to see if he will continue talking to her.