He moved with that practiced indifference, but his fingers flexed at his sides as if to hold back a flurry of tasks and notices that pulsed at the edge of his awareness. The cold scratch of air had a bitterness to it, and the small, pulsing windows in his sight were reminders that the Heart in his chest had demands beyond mere politics.
"Where are you guys going?"
A voice from the receding line, practical, seeking, carried with an attempt at normalcy. Travel gives people that permission to ask questions that otherwise seem rude.
"Back to Lufondal," Joana said. "We won't be keeping you company," she finalized.
Joana's words were straightforward. Going back, she meant, to the places that gave context to what had occurred; distance and time could be tools as precious as sword and shield. Her tone left no invitation; it had the gravity of someone settling an account.
"Oh, we're heading back to Solania then, we'll split halfway I suppose." Sigurd replied.
