Ilda rests her forearms on the edge of the table, resting her chin on top of them in turn. She loves stories, especially a good story, and while she seems to have the ability to talk non-stop, she can also be a very good listener. At certain times.

Her eyes dart back and forth between the Fool and his carving, interested both in what he’s doing and what he’s saying. “In your dreams? Really?” She knows she has quite the imagination, but if that’s translated to her dreams, she doesn’t know. She barely remembers them, and those she does remember aren’t the good ones. “Whoaaaa! A dragon battle? That is so cool.”