Bird tracks in the snow

She listens as he answers about the monks. Not a lot of information, but she’d never really known anything about them. The residents of Halo were, long ago, nomadic, so it’s not strange to find other groups of people in the Tundra. Still, it was uncommon, given the difficulty of survival out there. She wonders what they are doing deep in The Fangs, who it is they serve or what it is they protect. She only nods in response, finding there is nothing to add to the conversation, though she tucks the information away. What else had people found in Halo that she didn’t yet know about?

”Do your books have any good tales of what we might find?” she asks, not necessarily meaning the books in his hands, but rather books in general. ”I have found there is usually some truth in all those fairy stories.” Not exactly the truth, but enough that maybe they could have some indication of what else might be there. Maybe too he had some proper history books on Caido.

She smiles as he mentions that home is where the heart is. Her eyes drift back and little, toward the direction of her own street and her house, nestled in the heart of Snowcloak. The Palace looms closer, but the Palace is not really Halo. The town is Halo. The people are Halo. The Palace is something they will all come to accept, in time. Or it will explode. ”Home will always be Halo. The world is a fun place to see, but I am a girl made of ice and snow.” Of ice and snow and the fires that keep them warm.