A man of few words, something she takes note in so quickly. It's a part of him that she never thought she would miss such a quality that often frustrated her. Liaran has always been quiet, collected, far different than herself when she often used words to better cope in compromising positions. But his short words speak far greater to her, and she commits to memory how this feels. The display she makes is far from becoming as Inquisitor, but she can't help it. For months, she had been horrified and uncomfortable, forced to send letters assuring her clan that she was fine and content with where she had ended up.

It was all a lie. And Liaran must have known, because why else would he come here had he truly believed she was fine?

Her hands ball into fists into his coat, and she inhales the smell of just him, his natural aroma coated in the elements that have kept him company through the long journey. Isetriel's tears flow harder in knowing just how far he has gone to get here.

For now, she says nothing of her fear and her feelings, she just pulls back a touch. Sniffling, she looks up at him through glassy eyes and tears that flow freely down her face.

"But... Why? How long have you traveled? What of the Keeper? There is no way she willingly let you as First."

In disbelief, she shakes her head.

"Why are you here?"