Firefly Ravine borðaðu rassinn minn

The young healer was looking at dirt. How terribly quaint. Quickly and easily, Valmúa invaded her space, pushing in beside her without actually touching the lítið rauður dádýr, as @Solpallur had so tenderly called her.
Valmúa was not easily impressed by women. She looked at Meadow, who looked rather basic and small; she seemed not to have the body of a warrior, which hardly surprised the fire woman. She was a twig. A lovely little flower her brothers had picked and replanted to grow in their odd little garden of ravens.
What are you doing? she asked, her Icelandic accent drenching every word. She didn't care that the other might not know her, but assumed that at some point one of her brothers had mentioned that she had appeared to them from thin air from their northern homeland.