Chimera Fields pastel ghost

It takes a moment for it to register, being called mister. Truth was, he still felt like a yearling, often times even lesser. Truth was that he was stunted and the world had seen fit to pass him by. With every passing day the tide rose; Gavrel loitered at a sandbar, stranded on a surly island of his own making. He is just able to manage a wan smile at her retort.

Gavrel, he supplies, tilting his head so that her face is almost right side up. Gav, if you like.

When was the last time he said his name aloud?

What's yours? He rights himself, pads a few steps closer. The grass tickles his belly, and he represses a shiver. Are you like... a medic?