Jade Fern Grove Not a yes sir, not a follower.

his keen gaze tracks the shifts in her expression, accepting with dignity the accusatory eyebrow (well-deserved, unfortunately), his own lifting in curiosity as she seems to droop. samothes smells pack on her -- though not one he knows or recognizes. as to why she's sad, he doesn't particularly care, beyond idle interest. he does fancy himself something of a detached observer. "you must be traveling quite a distance," the messeda guesses, tilting his head. "returning home?"