Always an Omen of very little (apparent) mind, Iskierka's got even less of one lately in service to her task. As the days have worn on since Illarion's disappearance from Trench, the words in her head have gotten more insistent, piling up beyond her ability to record them. She's eager to seize any opportunity to snatch a writing implement and something to write on; Ford's journal was a plum find. That there was another Omen around keeping an eye on it didn't deter her, though she had taken a long look at Castor--only the one--before settling down to write with monomaniacal determination.

(She's a day or two from realizing she should carry a pen and paper of her own. Bear with her.)

He watched that woman wither away, she's writing, as Ford arrives and asks if she wants help. Her antennae twitch at the sound of his voice but she--reactions slowed and dulled by how busy her oversoul is, wherever it is--doesn't respond beyond that. Not until she's finished with writing the note does she lift her head, goggling at Ford with faceted red eyes.

This goes on for several seconds. Then she looks back down at the note, and crosses out several sentences with a neat line through them. She is not one of those Omens who speaks--easily, in words--but she can formulate a message from herself if she thinks about it long enough. Eventually, painstakingly, she manages an image of Ford reading the note.

It's probably pretty weird to look at, even by his standards, given her higher-dimensional sight. His organs are looking good today, though!