Silver Moraine his garden at argenteuil

Her answer leaves him wondering about some things, but is enough to answer the question of who she is. He was right to assume her status was high among her people, and thus the boy's posture lowers further, his tail sweeping across the grass as it curls slightly beneath him. The mention of enemies makes him more alert too; Renoir's worries for her, and himself, blossom to something great. 

—so what are you doing around here, anyway? she asks in a calmer tone, and he gives a tiny shrug of his butter-toned shoulder. There isn't much of a story for him to tell. At least, not one he is comfortable speaking aloud. The memory of his baby sister's marriage and his attempt to circumvent the laws of the land were sad things; her absence too, disoriented him, making him more pliant — especially to women like the one standing before him. Still, Renoir has been taught to be courteous and he cannot fathom being silent for long.

Telling her something doesn't necessarily mean telling her the truth, after all. Though what comes out of his mouth is not entirely false. I am a vwayajè. Mwen looks, sees, studies - dere is much beauty here, as he says this, the boy's eyes light up and his brows raise; his tail does too, wagging a few times behind him before returning to the grass. Your 'ome, it is a beauty too? Many colors? If she came from the woods beyond them, she must bare witness to all manner of wonderful things.