Having never heard of Ank'harel or Marquet before, Jinn could not tease out falsehood or embellishment. What J'mon said might have been entirely true. They had that air about them. Whatever people they represented must have felt comforted by it. And indeed, it was inviting.
Jinn did not trust it. "My kind are often fond of the desert. It's a sort of homesickness." But he said nothing more about that, as even that was revealing too much.
From the corner of his eye, Jinn watched J'mon methodically work their way through snow, and weed, and soil, revealing patches of fresh dirt that might one day be covered in grass or wildflowers. The image of the cemetery in Jinn's mind was not tidy or manicured, not meant for photographs or noisy funerals. It was this place, but slightly improved.
Still a pipe dream, given his rate of success.
"You do not ask this idly," Jinn said, gauging his companion's reaction. Having met J'mon's eyes, he knew now that he wasn't speaking to one of his kind. He also sensed J'mon's power. Intent was a different matter. "As you grew that flower out of nothing, you could do the same with the rest of the cemetery, yes? What is stopping you?" What are you, he might have asked if he believed he would get a straight answer.