Common

A place that collected lost souls... why did that sound so familiar? Maybe most places were more similar than different in their basic nature. The specifics could differ: a herd that wandered through misty marshes told stories of ghostly spirits and the sky and earth; the herds of the neighboring grasslands cautioned their foals with tales of shrewd birds and ruthless foxes. Here a gathering of the elderly huddled against the winter wind, there a group of the young fighting to secure their place. Some were content to leave strangers alone but would fight with vicious intent upon provocation; others bickered constantly but shied away from complete savagery.

Rusalka wasn't quite sure what she was looking for. Maybe it was simply in her nature to wander.

Her ears swiveled back as she stepped to the side, matching each step Viðarr took to keep the distance between them. No matter the similarities and differences between whatever places there were in the universe, some things were kept constant. Distance between strangers was something she was used to, and would not let go of. She hadn't intended to ask for help with the offhand comment, and while Viðarr might have wished to be helpful, Rusalka did not accept it.

"Nothing, really." Still calm, a voice that did not show signs of anger. She wasn't angry, not really--as long as he didn't come closer. "Three years is a long time." As long as she'd been alive, more or less. "It's a noble-sounding mission, the way you talk about your home. Do horses arrive at these islands often?" She wondered if there'd been others from her land, before her. If that was the case, surely horses would come the other direction too--? Rusalka had never heard of any. Perhaps she was out of the loop, in a herd that didn't socialize much with outsiders anyway. Or maybe the mainland was just that unappealing. Or--maybe there were even more lands out there.

For a moment, her head spun imagining it all.