Sitting back on her behind, Idun glanced up at the stranger scrunching her skirts up in small fists. It was a habit her mother had tried to break her of, said it was ruining her dresses by crumpling them, but she still did it. Small and curled up, there was a fear in her eyes, an anxiety.

   "Wanna go home,“ she mumbled, looking down at the flowers sewn into the hem of her outer skirt. "Want my Mama.”