[ She will - at one point or another - wrangle that hair. Attack it firmly with a brush. Pin the whole thing in a braid to stop it for at least a few days from flittering away and about.

Which is rather secondary, or more a later concern, to the sweet pink things she can see poking out of his pocket, lingering on them. Briefly. She has business after all when he starts to talk.

But it goes, she flicks the page over, a new series of notes. His name is at the top in common language, the date beside. The line below, she once more begins to take notes. Slowly taking shape of this land. Its history, its suffering. That no, humans do not, do they? How odd to be grouped after so long, as something entirely different. But it only came as proof of more the same. ]

What a choice. [ She breathes out thin. ] I'm more familiar than most in my position might what to admit, I suppose.

[ She sips her own tea, pausing in her writing. ] If I may, it seems to me, it is because dwarves control something that is wanted very much, and they alone are unique in having, in controlling it and know it too. That and... being underground.

[ She couldn't do it, not too long, the dark and the silence, she could not be in it too long. ] But perhaps the latter is my own... thoughts.