Grouse Thicket A black fly in your chardonnay.

The woman is friendly and open, sharing many things in a short span of time. Minerva absorbs it all and puts aside her questions, tries to limit her opinions since they have no space here, and nods her head in agreement to some of the comments. She has not been blessed yet with children of her own, although one day she does hope the sea will choose her; she hopes she has many daughters to make her people proud. Training children outside of the tribelands does not sit well with her - but they are not her children, and these are not her customs to uphold.

Then the woman asks, I gather that you are new to these parts? Probing for weaknesses, maybe, or simply inquisitive. Perhaps travelers are common the further from the sea one moves? This is not the first time Minerva has been off of her island home; her first foray in to these wilds was short-lived, but she was here now. Roaming, learning, doing what she could to survive and understand so that she could better serve her sisters. There was much to be learned here.

Minerva nods. It was not on porpoise. Er, purpose, she blunders through her comments, misplacing a word and hastily correcting herself. The tongue of the mainland is so very different from what she knows - and the words sometimes jumble in her mind. but yes, new. I come from an island. This place... It is very different. As she says this Minerva's gaze sweeps around at the overwhelming shadows, the imperious trees shuddering against the wind, and then looks to the woman again.