Ouroboros Spine yn rhedeg mewn cylchoedd

And yet, she does not push. A newfound respect for her enters his eyes, and he turns his gaze to her once more, lingering upon her face before accepting her apology with a bow of his head, closing his eyes. He will say no more on the subject, not because it is too fresh, but because she has no right to any of the bloody tales he holds close to his heart, piercing like thorns. She was a girl of joy and fun; he saw it in her eyes, on her unblemished pelt, and he knew that to bring her the stories of his trauma would, in turn, bring her sorrow. Sorrow she did not need, nor deserve.

Instead, he ponders her more innocuous query, lips pulled firmly together in studious concentration. So focused as he has been on surviving, getting from one point to the next, that he hasn't really taken time to make note of the scenery. He finally shakes his head, shrugging his shoulders in hopeless non-answer. "I can't recall anywhere memorable," Llewellyn says, opening his eyes to look at her once more. "It is a beautiful land, no doubt. Perhaps when I have been here longer, I will be more. . .observant."

He cocks his head slightly to the left, away from the yawning basin, looking at her with interest. "And you?" he asks, some semblance of warmth in his tone. "You seem well-traveled, and enthusiastic about said travels. What has drawn your attention?" There was something enticing about her; perhaps it was how much she reminded him of his sisters, especially Eurwen, with her laughter like songbirds in spring trees.

Ah, Eurwen, fy chwaer. . .that you might be alive, somewhere, he prayed silently, fervently.