As if summoned by his thoughts she appears, startling him enough to take a step backwards, his usually blank expression drawn upwards, mouth a small o. He finds his voice as she smirks, a pleased "Mirabelle" rumbling through him. Where had she come from? He hadn't smelled her until she was nearly on top of him --- his eyes try to trail the movement she'd arrived on, upwards briefly, but ultimately he ends up looking back at her with a face best characterized as: ????
Aloud he says, "I was not expecting you," both a reference to her manner of appearance and his uncertainty if she'd remained closeby at all. A smile curves his mouth as he speaks, warmth overtaking him now that he's done being surprised (for now). Perhaps this time there will be something between them -- fragile and new and complicated, but.. he does not mind having hope.
How strange that the thing they have said to each other the most is their names -- the way Mirabelle weaves the syllables feels more intimate than any confession could. This is what they have, their names in each other's mouths. He could be content with that, as he could be content with a great many things.
"You did," the titan confirms, like a private joke. It would be rude to own that he does not trust it, for that means he does not trust her and it is not so simple as that -- he does not trust Fate, for she seems intent on keeping them at distance, slowly circling but never touching. To her observation he smiles and shrugs. "The children are getting older," he says, as if without context that is an explanation, "and I am not so useful in times of peace." It sounds self deprecating but the crinkles at the corners of his eyes suggest this is a good thing -- he knows he's got it easy, and he wants to embrace that.
More pressingly, he can smell unfamiliarity on her fur. "Where are you staying?" He asks, unsure if it's pack-scent or just picked up from travels -- and also wanting to know if -- and where -- he will be able to find her, should she let him.
The glacier. He follows her gesture, making sure to commit it to memory -- a part of the map he has yet to venture, as his travels northward ceased once he joined Drageda. He is curious, but her question seems more pressing.
"There are four," he says, warmly. "Les petits. They belong to our Heda and her wife, so I see myself as -- oncle, a guardian, even though we share blood." His explanation is not meant as reassurance, for such a thing would not occur to him to need to reassure. It is simply the facts of their complex relationship. "I've also taken a ward, a boy named Ephraim I discovered not far from here, alone." Here his voice softens: poor Ephraim! Étoille hopes his heart is full even if he can never replace whatever family he's lost. Furi he does not mention -- Mirabelle has not met her and she is not present, and so cannot be counted.
Now his curiosities: "They treat you well?" he asks, glad she has found stable company. "What they flee is not a threat to you," he adds, a typical half-question of his -- the answer he assumes is oui, or else why stay with them. No?
Her story of little Currituck warms him further. It is nice to know she cares for children as he does, for truthfully this season has brought into light a stronger desire to bear his own young that he did not think he had. Age finally catching to him, perhaps, or a better understanding of himself and what he cares for. (This is, of course, quite presumptuous on his part, and more forward-thinking than he tends to be, so as quickly as he finds he is relieved he abandons the thought.)
Mirabelle's description is an alarm bell in his head. There is little doubt that she refers to Blackfeather Woods, for what other dark forests lay to the south? But he wonders from what they are fleeing: they'd won the war months ago, driven them from their homes. Had they returned and met some other unfortunate fate?
"I see," he says, expression drawn but not betraying his thoughts, yet. "I once lived in a dark wood to the south. Perhaps the very same," the titan murmurs at length, the most he will dwell. At either rate, "it would be good to meet your Northerners," he tells her, thinking of pack diplomacy and of establishing reason to visit her once again. After all, "I would like to see you again." And more than again, in fact.
Her question stumps him for a moment. "I do not," he tells her, "but they were a dark people." Étoille still does not hold Blackfeather in the same evil regard as the rest of Drageda -- having lived amongst them, he thinks they are the same as any other, their culture neither morally sound or unsound. Harsh, perhaps. Unfit for children, he feels.
The Steltrona does not dwell, unable to offer her a better answer, even if it colors his vision of her northerners a little bit. Perhaps he can speak to them about it... learn some information. Her question makes him smile slightly and shake his head. "Drageda is... stern," he says, avoiding the word hostile. "Towards outsiders, particularly. I think it would be best to.. avoid the issue, for now." He pauses, licking his lips. Will it offend her? He hopes not -- he does not see the issue in keeping their homes separate for now. Étoille will not leave Drageda but nor is he willing to give up on Mirabelle. And if things become... serious between them, well: then he can broach the subject with heda, but at the moment it seems unworth the risk.
"I will come to you," he offers, "as I am a scout, at any rate." It is a decent cover -- and no one has minded when he goes missing for a day or so yet.
He understands well enough why the Northerners may not want his strange presence near their children, but dips his head, accepting gratefully Mirabelle's offer to speak with them. "I like children," he says, as if this character trait would prove winsome to them, "I would not wish to unsettle them." Her other idea seems the most straightforward choice. Glad she suggested it, he reaces forward to embrace her briefly if she should allow. "I would like that," he murmurs near her ear, drawing back with a handsome smile. "In the meantime, tell me a little of your travels, s'il vous plait." An afternoon spent in her gentle company is his simple desire today.