Hoshor Plains made simple intricate paper bloom bleed red

The man is quiet company, which she does not mind. A stolen moment between two souls is sometimes all she needs; can be more valuable, in fact, than a conversation full of empty nothings. At any rate, he offers his name and she nods, repeating "Kjalarr," testing the foreign-sounding word in her mouth. It is rough and reminds her briefly of Sif, an association she quickly dismisses. For a moment she allows the silence to rest easily between them, eyes trailing the same grasshopper that's captured his attention. When she speaks again it is just to ask, "do you have a destination?" curious what his plans are in the way she often is, if he has any.