She gives a nod, which should probably solidify any suspicion about her being a passenger. She sits, head tilted to one side to look at him closely, her nose still sniffing to draw in his scent.

But she can't talk like this, not in any way he's going to understand. Ylva shifts back into her regular shape, cross-legged on the ground across from him.

"I am," she says, "though it won't do much good. I'm Ylva."