Freyja's eyes open with the fluttering awareness of one returning from a reverie, and she leans closer to Machado.  "Or we've been found already."  She stands, crossing the room in a flutter.  "They've got spies on the other side."  She's dressed in a sleeveless wool tunic over the black sleeves and skirt of her former cloister, but the frayed wool she casts off rapidly, without self-consciousness, and follows shirt-- for a moment, her back, bare to the waist, faces the two of them, and they can see criss-crossed pale lines from old floggings mingled with the fading blue ink of ritual tattoos.  Without explanation, she pours a half-pitcher of water into the basin on its stand and then splashes her face with it, letting it course down her chest and arms, then pulls the black shirt back over her head before turning around.<br/><br/>"I think it best we leave, before they get word.  Any faction capable of finding us here is capable of selling that information."  She turns to the young woman again, looking her over-- not many years separate the two, but something of a gap stands like a wall.  Glancing askance to Machado, she raises her brow inquisitively, hoping for an introduction.