Deepwood Weald don't tell me how we've grown

Ah, there it is. Like Moath, he has to search. . .but it's there, in the back of his mind. Not gone completely, as with poor Midar. She lets her face relax, only for it to tighten again at his rejoinder. So sour! Still, perhaps it is a try at humor. She'll go with that for now, and adjust if need be.

What a shrewd observation, she says dryly, the bridge of her nose wrinkling a little. I cannot imagine how you came to that conclusion. So you do remember me, Megara continues. And now we are together once more.

The old spy falls silent, then, tail moving slowly behind her. They are accompanied by naught but the rustle of wind through the trees, quiet and eerie. When did you leave home? she asks after a long pause, blinking at him like an owl, feathers still unruffled. It has been a while since I've been there myself.