"The Huds-- mm, America. Heading north up the Hudson Valley, until we go west," Benji says, in English, but as stated, it matters little even if Wolfgang did not know it. Her hands retract once Wolfgang is situated, but hover in brief uncertainty, mostly because she herself is not certain, not of his response or whether he'll be glad for the change. He had, after all, told her 'no'. But sometimes she just does things. On hands and knees, she shifts to sit beside him, close without invading space, resting her back against the metal and wood that seals them in.

Her arms fold around her. "Or just away, whichever you prefer. Safe and swiftly moving; I think migration is best, sometimes." Her long legs stretch out in front of her, and she is once again dressed a little differently, changing appearance as her own mind settles; she resembles more herself in Baedal, in soft wools and cottons of black and grey, boots at a tapered point.

Every now and then, the truck jumps a little beneath them as its wheels bump and dip. The narrative of his dreams are frightening, and she wonders if it is this new story that has him looking more like a deer in the headlights than usual.

"You're the only person I know who's hard to find in their own head," she accuses, without a trace of severity, the corner of her mouth turning up.