The low, steady rumble of a classic European engine echoes across the quiet dirt road, cutting through the wide-open silence of the Idaho countryside. After weeks of logistics, ocean freight across the Atlantic, and thousands of highway miles stretched behind him from coast to coast, Skar finally rolls his Hymer onto the gravel driveway of the ranch.

Off to the side stands her absolute unit of a rig—a massive 40-foot rolling fortress flanked by open pasture and wide skies. Skar eases the Hymer to a stop, pulling up parallel to her RV with the easy precision of someone who knows every inch of his vehicle, and cuts the ignition to let the engine rest.

Before he even steps down from the cab, the screen door of the main trailer clicks open. Mistral steps out onto the wooden steps, a mug held loosely in one hand. She wipes a stray lock of glossy raven hair from her eyes, her dark green eyes widening with a mix of genuine surprise and sharp amusement as she takes in the classic European lines of Skar's motorhome parked next to her American heavy-metal monster.

"Well," she calls out, her voice carrying that rich, articulate lilt across the yard, a faint, knowing grin touching her lips. "I’ve seen some ambitious road trips in my time, Skar, but shipping a Hymer across the pond and driving it all the way to Idaho might just take the cake."

She descends the steps, walking over to meet Skar halfway as he steps down onto the gravel, her gaze flicking over the road dust on his windshield with deep appreciation.

"Tell me you didn't drive across the entire American continent without a proper cup of tea... or am I going to have to boil the kettle myself?"