Meadow

Bitter isn't the first word that comes to mind. Her gaze narrows, light gold caged by dark lashes as she studied his face, trying to find the truth beneath his flippancy. Moments ago she wouldn't have cared what the sanguine stallion's opinion of her was, but now that he had laid the bait she found herself drawn in by curiosity. Just as quickly as the feeling rose, however, she flattened it. Ma'alruin might have been the closest thing she had to a friend in this world, but she had not developed the armor she wore by caring what others thought of her, even if the soul in question meant more to her than most.

Ahh, Salem. The acknowledgment of her guess being right - of Ma'alruin having visited the desiccated landscape to the south - brought a flicker of a triumphant grin to her lips. She might have grown soft and out of practice with all these years of indolent living on the islands, but her mind remained as sharp as ever. Like his own sneer, her smirk faded quickly as the subject changed, filed away for exploration later when the omnipresent threat of the omen boy had faded into background noise again.

Suspicion flickered to life again as he spoke of his fascination with the cold and its charms, but she kept her tongue caged and her thoughts to herself. She did not think the North desired him nearly so much as he believed it might, but who was she to speak for all of the North? Perhaps there was some ermine holed up somewhere that wouldn't mind singing their nose hairs on the desert stallion's heat.

His question earns another soft bark of laughter and she shook her head no. In truth, she wasn't sure why she continued to linger here among strangers. Interacting with the vast majority of them brought her no joy, and she felt as though she had learned next to nothing about the people with whom she walked. What then, was her point for even being here?

Pride perhaps. The thought of returning home to her sisters with nothing to show for her long years away made her skin crawl with prickles of embarrassment and frustration, but she found no joy in the thought of staying either. There were no mythos here, no history. At least not the sort that was cataloged and treasured, kept for future generations. The stories here were as broken and unrelated as these islands were to themselves. So Ingrid simply existed, ghosting through the Crossing with eyes that shone a little too bright, and a little too knowing.

"Do you intend to come calling if I have?" The glitter in her eyes gave away the challenge for what it was, but she relented a moment later with a wry shake of her head. "I have found no frændi among these people." She cast a look around them, her eyes skating over the shadows where other creatures likely lurked. "There are many souls here, but they do not belong together." She shook her head, mild disgust and frustration written on her face. "None of their stories match each other." And then more finally, her tone more certain as she cast her golden eyes back to him. "There is no belonging here for me."

Her gaze searches his for a quiet moment, reading what tidbits of expression that he grants before she speaks again. "What of you, roðinn? Have you found something you covet strong enough to bind yourself to?"