Sam's attire is just as confusing as the buildings, for Meja. Like their architecture, the fashion involved calls to a different time — a distant time. She pulls her white cloak around her a little more, a mostly-unconscious gesture of nerves, before proceeding out into the park and toward Sam. Meja's movement are measured, careful; she walks as someone thoroughly aware of her own body and her surroundings, someone who's received a great deal of combat training.

If her suspicions are correct, she hopes the two short swords strapped to her back won't make Sam nervous. After all, she has no intention of using them. Not unless she really has to.

"Ja..." Meja glances, sheepishly, back at the treeline. "Sorry about that. I hope I didn't disrupt anything too important."

Reaching out to Yggdrasil had had the unintentional side effect of creating the little storm pattern, she guesses.