[Alia hums thoughtfully, the sun on her hair lighting it vivid gold, shimmering as she tilts her head at the stranger. She likes the feel of him, warm at the edges of her mind, though she doesn’t press deeper, doesn’t attempt to get a feel of him, fill her greedy hands with the shape of his thoughts. There’s enough to fill her hands, the mud alight with softly chirping, tiny frogs, waking from their slumber, rousing to the sun like the guests are.]

I would not have missed it. I promised them I’d return when the world was warm again. [Soft, conspiratorially:] Though I feared it may never be again. I had never seen a winter before.

[The comment gets another hum, Alia sloshing through the water towards the edge of the lake.] Were you away during the winter as well? Sleeping in the mud with my little friends? I hope they moved aside and made room for you, if so. That’s good manners.