Gilded Bay Scrubs are too far down the line

The boy felt even worse for startling his fellow when he saw how shaken the other seemed to be. Refusing to back down on the matter, Dagfinn brushed off the wolf's insistence on taking the blame and gladly moved on to brighter subjects.

"It looked fun," he said in response to the man's question, looking down at the colorful seashells and then side-eying the blind wolf before him. What a shame it was to never know their color. Even if Dagfinn told him, would it mean anything to the other man? Like the Murhe Sala's, Tide's plight spoke to him on a deep and personal level, and for a moment, emotion choked away any words he might've spoken. Life just wasn't fair. "They did not have shells like this where I am from," he explained, hoping none of the pity he felt was evident in his voice - and he rather thought he'd succeeded, bard that he was. "There were only muscles - plain and b-black."

The last words was stumbled over, and he held in his breath after it left his mouth, as though he could take it back by doing so. How long had this wolf been blind? Did he know the color black? Did he know color at all?

"I'm Dagfinn," he said quickly, trying to cover up what he considered to be a terrible slurr. In his haste, he did not even give his full name in all its glory, as was his wont. "What's your name?"