Unlike Desiderio, perhaps, Yonca was accustomed to waiting. Many times in her past travels, she waited for hours upon end. She waited for her Papa, she waited for her caretaker, sometimes they would all wait together, waiting for the rain to pass, waiting for the templars to walk by, waiting, waiting, waiting. This did not bother her. She took the time to think and read. Waiting was almost meditative, a time for peace and quiet. She didn’t require constant stimulation, peace was rare and she found waiting to be a gift given from the Old Gods themselves. It was hard to relax and read though when nearby Desiderio was obviously anxious. Yonca stared at the lines of ink upon the worn journal pages. She was trying to concentrate on reading, but once more Desi decided to try and start up conversation.
It hadn’t been terrible traveling towards Denerim with the young man, but it was clear he was use to chatting much more than she was. After the first few polite attempts, Yonca found she did not care to remark about the weather or much else for that matter. It wore down her energy to speak to the young man, constantly having to watch her words. She found herself getting exhausted with him by her side, the more they talked, the more tired she would become. She wasn’t annoyed or angry by the other’s habits, but she had a weary attitude towards him already. Yonca tried to shoo the attitude away, but it only made her more weary. Feeling guilty for not being more accommodating to the young man that she had asked along to travel, she’d let him chat away as much as he’d like. She added in her thoughts now and then, always softly, before bringing her attention to walking or a journal in front of her or simply the ground below.
Yonca sat upon a fallen tree. As Desiderio asked his question, she glanced up from the journal. Her gaze swept over the nearby road. It was empty. She kept gazing for a minute or two before she looked back down to her journal, shaking her head ‘no’.