Heron Lake Plateau only need the light when it's burnin' low

the boy smiles, nods, dips his head in acknowledgment as he finishes his speech. certainly, he bears no ill will towards this pack the man speaks of. and ah, this lord, though he be blunt, does rouse ysengrin's interest so! his words are sharp and quite delightful, for perhaps unbeknownst to the good lord, they spark alight the sleeping admiration ysen harbours.

he does not laugh this time when the good man speaks of his wife and pack. he would love to, dearly, and of course, the youth is pleasantly surprised to discover the truth of their relationship - but he does not quite know how to approach the matter. so he is silent, serious, eyes losing their lighthearted brightness.

he falls, he trembles in his heart, for he would so dearly love to speak out loud but ah! here it is that he must cull his fool's tongue, in fear that he might speak the wrong word and that should be the end of him! "i believe the good lady was offering a place too."

haltingly, carefully, does ysengrin speak, unsure of his path. "i accepted, and i would, with glad heart accept your offer as well." he quirks a smile, noting 'interest' - of course he is interested, and his laugh then is short, but nonetheless less true than all his other laughs. "interest goes where the heart directs, and my heart rather fancies this pack of yours good sir! this boy would do so much for a home! i am a bard, a wordweaver, and my talent is in the rhythm of silver speech. but if it does soothe whatever fears the good sir might have, this wolf, this dreamspinner is also lightfoot, the scout."