The nomad body guards stand to meet her, emerging from the darkness in three swelling shadows of grey garb, piercing eyes, blades not brandished, but readied-- knowing that they face a paladin, they still show no fear.<br/><br/>The singing stops, there's a moment's pause... they sense no aggression, so they do not move, but the guards watch Deirdre carefully, sensing recognition.  The wagon door opens and, framed by the gold-tinged light within, a tall, lithe woman with long, thick tresses of raven-black hair, damp and hanging in thick tenrils, stares back.  Deirdre knows her as Nadya-- some spark in her analytical mind fights that recognition, tries with rationale to force Deirdre to question the visage-- it is not quite Nadya, she's older, more womanly, her huge eyes more vividly blue than ever.  She is young still, though drawing close to twenty years in age, but seems older... seems ancient, forged from silver and ivory, sapphire and onyx.<br/><br/>She is draped in a worn blanket, sized for a bed bigger than any Deirdre has ever seen, but Nadya's long neck is bare, the tops of her shoulders still glistening with water.  She was bathing.  And as her full, pale-pink lips part, they turn upwards into the most honest of smiles, the most crisp of promises from her heart, and she steps closer.  "Deirdre..."  She steps twice, bare feet soundless on the planks of the wagon, and tips her face up to kiss the paladin's mouth, shamelessly, in her joyful reunion.  She lets half the cloak fall, baring pale skin down her throat and shoulder, as she wraps one arm around Dierdre's shoulder and  presses to the warm, unyielding armor.  "Too many years, my friend,"  she grins, even, ivory teeth bared happily, still holding to her.  "I expected you at night, not by day-- this must bode that we are not at our end... what twist of the ribbons has crossed yours with mine?"