Rutile spies Padparadscha above the crowd seconds before they emerge, catching a glimpse of their curls glimmering in the sunlight before the full splendor of the lunar corundum in their chest comes into view. Their relief at Padparadscha's arrival is is tempered by a strange bitterness at the sight, though for what reason, they aren't sure.

"You feel old because you are old," they point out, tongue in cheek, as they straighten up and adjust their coat. "You can hardly keep up with me. I've been waiting for ages."

It's good Padparadscha brought up age. Now they can relish being younger by comparison.