It reminds Claudia of those long cold nights in Romania. The forest feels decidedly unfriendly, as if she's a foreign body within it; she is distinctly aware that her time here undetected is limited, and she shouldn't linger. But the morning air – as 'morning' as things can get around here – courses through her, pure energy, to lighten her after the heaviness of the light before.

She spots a wisp of blonde hair and thinks, for a moment, that it's Lestat, but his is a deceptive honey and this one is white like alabaster, like satin spar. Still, she stops a few feet away. He looks like he doesn't want to be disturbed, and Claudia – ever aware of how she must appear to others – is familiar with the precise irritation of being bothered by someone who looks like a child. But she has questions to ask.

"Are you new?" There's nothing about his countenance that suggests it: in fact she thinks he's doing a very good job at looking like he fits in. But she figures it's a reasonable assumption to make, given that they're both new here, and the first thing they've both done when given enough freedom is get as far away from that crumbling old ruin as possible.