There was something exciting about being somewhere so far away - it aligned with what she could remember of what their dear sage had said about their life, about what had happened to them, and it would be a lie if she said she wasn't excited about understanding them a little better.
… Of course, she hadn't found them yet. She hadn't found any of them yet, and she just… knew… they had to be here, didn't they? Surely it wouldn't be her by herself - surely, she'd just not found Chloe, yet, or the sage.
Which is why, at the sight of messy red hair, Rustica delighted - a key that reminded her of a friend, of a dear one (whether or not he agreed… well, Rustica didn't care very much), which made her move a little more intently to catch up to them. Her delicate fingers caught on his sleeve, heedless of the danger that another might have felt in that situation, and tugged, trying to get him to slow enough or to turn so that she could verify if it was emerald green eyes that turned to look at her.
When it was, she laughed, a bubbly, quiet thing, her eyes widening.
"Oh! Dear Mithra, it is you! Hello, my friend - what a sight for sore eyes you are," she doesn't remove her hand. Why would she? It's her friend, after all.
@winterdying
