She finds him perched atop a high lookout, in Cadens. Looking down over the rooftops in grey dawn light. In her presence, the charcoal of his feathers slowly bleeds to white. The blues and golds of the collar about his cowl brighten, just a fraction. And though his face stays covered by those small wings, blindfolded, his expression warms when she speaks, all the same.

"You know, one day, I'm not going to be surprised you still look like you always do."

The wry humor there hasn't changed. Somehow, there's a sense of a smirk under it all, too. He offers a hand to her, greeting.

"Feels like we've had this conversation before." And it's not a bad thing. If she's asking, then it's probably necessary.