As Adalia sketches — she has no great skill as an artist, but she makes do — she keeps up a quiet, consistent commentary. This mural is sort of intimidating, that one's cute, what is that animal, it looks like a deer but the antlers are strange — inconsequential blather, mostly meant to cement details in her mind for easier recall when she wakes up. Of course the wolf won't respond, but she keeps talking to him anyway, because why not, right? It doesn't hurt her, it doesn't hurt him.

"Thank you, by the way. For showing me these ruins. I don't know why you chose me to bring here, but I'm very grateful."

She shifts, facing the wolf more head-on in order to look at another mural, talking as she sketches.

"I don't know a lot about the elves of this world, but I want to. They were dealt such a shitty hand — I suppose I don't have to tell you that, huh Evakyl?"

Adalia smiles, the Draconic slipping out of her without thinking. It fits, though, with the atmosphere of the dream — he is rather a lonely beast, especially if he's grabbing her, and not one of the native elves.

"I want to help them but I don't know how. It's like the mages — I'd tear down this whole world if I thought it would do any good for them, but I don't know enough. I'm an interloper, no matter how much good I want to do. This is a good start, I think."