His face is scrunched in a concoction of deeper grooves and worrisome lines as a smile worms its way across his features. There is a softness in his chest, a warming sensation that puts the Knight at ease, even as his own body resists. What has happened to the North? And what wrong turn had he possibly made? His expression is one of confusion, of hesitancy, and yet…somehow, interest as he forces himself to take the daring step forward.

The woman before him, short and slender against a backdrop of sun and flowers, regards him with the similar uncertainty he felt within himself. I reckon you are just as confused as myself, he quips as a pale gaze reaches hers.

This feels very unlike the North… he cannot help but comment as he wanders a bit further into the trains of flowers that litter the horizon. They are awfully pretty. Do you have any ideas…what has happened?