[William doesn't notice very well, that the young woman seems to be suffering from a dark sort of nostalgia. He's wandering after her, interested in what she's doing. If there's a trickle-through, the faintest sense that she's carrying ghosts through the creaking trees, then he doesn't let it on.]

Magical motherfuckers! I think they got on with plants and animals, and have got pointy ears. Use things like bows and arrows. Live for ages. It's what I've heard, anyway, [William adds, perhaps realizing that he's compositing any number of tattered and disparate impressions together in ways that they are not necessarily meant to be. He's also heard there are different kinds of angels.]

Super friendly. [A beat.] To the environment, too. [But he thinks she is-- to people, thus far.]