"Perfect is maybe a little bit of a stretch, at least for now," Brigitte admits, "but-- I do know what you mean." Life in the village was... okay. Or at least, getting better. She's settling in.

Then she finally unfolds her hands from the chair, straightens up and stretches until something in her back pops. She's been hunkered down here for too long; she should probably get moving, do more of the rounds, meet more people.

"I should probably go try those waffles. Thanks for the talk, though, Seifer, and I'll catch you round here tomorrow. And good luck with those designs?" She gives him a flash of a smile, an attempt at reassurance. She's leaving him a little bittersweet, but her mood isn't tanked or anything; because there's still the warmth of the forge, and that buzz of conversation, and getting closer to these new friends.

It's not home, but at least it's something like it.