Something about the sheer amount of history, the length of time Tarantulas could just tell her about... There's so much. Hopefully she'll have time to learn more. Her hand, still remarkably cold, finds its way to him. She doesn't know if he can be pet, but she rests her hand on his abdomen.

"I am a woman, by choice, but not like Ryja Skov-Fisher-Thule. She was born one way, and made herself another, while I am neither to begin with, physically. And only the men leave the village. You see me as feminine, I expect, but my people would see me as very masculine." Talking about it is harder than she expected. Perhaps part of her still anticipates the scorn of breaking the Green Word.