"All right."

Vocabulary lessons. Approaching Redcliffe.

"Human towns are ugly."

"...I guess?"

"I might not be able to stay indoors very long if they're like that there too."

"Why not?"

"Quendi need things to be pretty."

"...okay. We'll see what we can do, I guess."

"I suppose I could sing more..."

"The singing is... very pretty."

"I'm not that good for a Quendi."

"...really?"

"Really! I'm not bad either but there are much better singers than me. I'm a family friend of the best on the planet."

"Wow."

She doesn't remark aloud on the implications for local music quality. "And the stars are nice and the trees are too, I can make do..."

"Okay."

The following afternoon, Stalas can be seen (and heard) running back up the road toward them.

She waves.

He waves back.

When he's within local-species earshot: "Eamon's feeling better and looking forward to talking to everyone when they get there! So, we were talking about gods?"

"We were. We're hoping the main god from home didn't make this place."

"...was that a possible thing?"

"Still is, it's the sort of thing he might do."

"And he's the sort of god who shouldn't go around making places?"

"He likes sad stories, and if he only made the worlds I knew about he has been convinced to only use fiction."

"...ah."