It is, in fact, hard to locate the man named Istredd, whom Sabine has been on the lookout for since hearing a few things about him in passing. There's no ire or impatience for this fact. Those same words had come with the warning he'd been among those taken in the last big altercation, which deserved much latitude. Healing was a long-term course, and even the adjustment to returning to anything, even partially once normal was its own first stretch.

(She would know.)

She decides against the imposition of the large, impersonal dining halls; against the too intimate nature of the baths she's still a touch askance about on her own points; against interrupting him when he's busy with others, or settled within insularity, with his reading, or his writing. But it leads to a narrow valley of options, and Sabine settles on waiting until he finishes a class one day. Until all his other pupils have filed out.

She steps inside as the last person is leaving. Contained in good posture, effortless grace, and a peaceful demeanor that is far more true than it is any facade. "Apologies if I'm intruding, but would you happen to be Istredd?"

Sabine knows he is, but politeness as a first offer costs her nothing.