After weeks of riding in a wagon, Signy had started to get on pretty well with the people who pulled wagon-driving duty. At first, it had been a very shy, awkward ride, as Signy cowered in the back with whoever else was not atop a horse at the moment, or one of the Mabari, or on her own with the tents and sacks of equipment. She found it a good enough time to mend her clothing, or work on sharpening something or others, or try and practice a little bit of magic. That had gone poorly once, when she had accidentally turned a sack of supplies to stone and been unable to get it back to not-stone again—luckily, it had been mostly socks and cookware.
But her curiosity had urged her out of the back of the wagon, and, today, as they made their way through the awe-inspiring forest, Signy was sitting on the bench with the wagoneer, her head and eyes constantly moving, taking in all of the sights. The dog's growl, the unsheathing of swords, this had thus far escaped her—she was focused on the size of that tree, the greenness all around them, the strange and slightly damp, prickly feeling in the air. (Being sensitive to distant ruptures in the Fade and not knowing them for what they were, at all, was perhaps a problem for the new mage, but she was not aware of it at all. Was this not how things just felt in forests?)
She caught sight of Imenry approaching on the ground, and made a small wave; "Isn't this place—"
It was then that the wagoneer caught the signal from up ahead, and pulled his oxen to a halt; Signy stopped talking, and looked around, perplexed. "We're stopping?"