Yang's quiet pleasure at the compliment has Blake smiling, suffused with warmth. Yang doesn't get like that a lot -- soft and sincere -- so it's a privilege to see, a privilege that Blake's able to bring that out in her.

Gods, she's lucky. She's lucky that Yang's so forgiving. Months ago, Blake had been absolutely convinced that Yang should hate her. She'd taken a self-destructive kind of satisfaction in imagining it, in twisting that knife deeper into herself as she'd pictured over and over again Yang turning away from her in disgust if they ever met again. But that hadn't happened. And Blake doesn't know if she'll ever be able to pay Yang back for that grace.

"I guess this means you're going to be referring to us as your pack, now," she teases gently. Sure, Ruby and Weiss aren't here, but they're all so attached at the hip that Blake's halfway sure they won't be far behind. She hopes so, at least.

Falling silent, she looks out across the convoy, the glimmer of vehicle lights in the darkness. The train cars stretch out into the distance, and people must be inside, because she can see shadows in the windows.

"I guess we should probably explore that, huh?" She nods at the convoy.