It was unnerving being observed from so close and with such intensity. Rethe was used to being unnoticed, forgotten, left behind. To be pulled out into the light (albeit starlight) and examined like a bug beneath a microscope was a novel and uncomfortable experience.

It was only the fact that it was Tefnut doing the examination that kept her still.

She spoke of phlox and of early morning skies and the faintest of smiles touched along Rethe's lips, though it faded abruptly as Tefnut mentioned growing up in the Falls. "You grew up without a home?" The question was blurted abruptly, and while she did not mean any jdugement by it, the concept of such an upbringing had never occurred to her. Even when Kohelet was unsettled and roaming, she'd always had a 'home' for her children. It might not have been the 'right' one (in Rethe's eyes) for Ivo and Amalia, but they'd had a home. Somewhere they belonged to. Somewhere they could always go back to.

Suddenly, Tefnut's lack of reverence for the Bay and it's history made clear and perfect sense.

"Sorry, I didn't mean it that way, I just never thought about anyone growing up like that." Rethe chewed her lower lip between her teeth as she stared at the forest in consternation. Fell and the Bay were the two anchors in her life, or had been at least, until she'd decided to set sail to the Commons. Funny how life had brought her back here.

At Tefnut's follow-up question, she frowned softly as she considered. She had been most places she had ever wanted to travel to - although wanting to travel to Salem was certainly overstating it. She had needed to see the Badlands. To see if her father was there. And then she had wanted to accompany Tefnut, though she would have rathered the Dunes were not her home at the time.

"I don't know," she admits, glancing up at the mare again. "The Bay has always been my home and I love it here." She frowns as she considers, looking away from the dun mare. "I suppose that's why I reacted... poorly to you claiming it the way you did. For me, every place here holds a memory. A story. A life. This land is as much my family as my parents and it feels... wrong," she winces as she says the word, feeling as though it's not quite right but lacking the ability to find a different word, "that someone who does not know or care about it now owns it."

Her ears tilt back as she glances upward at Tefnut, almost apologetically. "I shouldn't have... snapped the way I did." The next words were ashy in her mouth, uncomfortable to wrap her lips around. "I'm... sorry."