There is silence as they travel, one borne of comfortable companionship. He does not try to break it, nor does she seem at all inclined to do so herself. It is only after hours spent searching for the grey's missing companion, that the serene ice of quiet is broken by his own curiosity.

"I've seen you a few times in the dungeon- from whence do you hail? Where do you call home?"

He knows it is a mistake as soon as the words leave his lips; her stride falters, slowing to a halt as her gaze travels distant, far from the place they stood. Silence fell once more, but this time, it was not comfortable nor peaceful. She had gone, but to whence, Crispin knew not.

"Mine home hath become naught but memory and mist, lost beneath the hemlocks and mountains long gone. It's peoples, no longer dance freely under distant starlight."

It was not an uncommon story, but the way to which her tone wavered left him questioning when, exactly, ruin befell her home.

"Apologies, Miss L-"

"Speak not of thy remorse, thou meant no harm in the asking."

She sighed, worn and weary like fabric stretched too thin, before continuing on their way.

"Let us speak not of what cannot be changed, and find that which thou seek."