Deepwood Weald silver light,

Dominika tilted her head at Miriam’s full name. “That’s a curious name,” she mused. “Iris Willows… Willows… Is it where you came from?” She shook her head, realizing that her curiosity had gotten the better of her manners, and straightened her spine, readjusting her sitting position to seem more formal. “Forgive me,” she said. “You do not need to reveal your past to me. I am simply… speaking to pass the time.” Dominika purposefully looked away from Miriam, then, to give her some semblance of privacy, at least in her thoughts. She supposed it had been so long since she’d spoken to one of her kind that she was starved of company. But that did not give her the right to pry into other people’s lives.