They rarely get visitors. The Tundra isn’t the number one vacation destination in Beqanna, nor are they the most welcoming of hosts – between the weather and the residents’ typical reticence, they’re probably low on the list. So when the twins look up from a puddle of thawed snow they have been drinking and find an unfamiliar girl on the other end of their surprised looks, they are quick to bound over.
Well – the girl is quick to bound over, eyes bright. The horned boy is slower to follow but he is on his sister’s heels – as he so often is. “Hello,” she chirps, a child’s delight even though she is no longer a child. Not yet an adult, but not a child. “I’m Dagny. This is my brother, Ollie.” she bumps her shoulder into the pale-colored boy who has come to stand beside her, a more solemn reflection of her. They’re not identical, and he’s taller by a hand or so, not to mention the horn spiraling from his forehead, but their eyes are the same. He may be less enthusiastic, but his face is no less inquisitively friendly.
“Can we help you with something?” the boy asks, tilting his head inquisitively, wondering. A visitor, perhaps a diplomat? A well-disguised threat even? If so they would not be the first line of defense for the Tundra, not in any way. But they make excellent greeters.