Ravensblood Forest In the combat between wisdom and feeling, wisdom never wins.

To learn that Rhona was not here was of little comfort to him. Indeed, Pendragon was bereft for a few minutes as he thought of all the different avenues she could have taken from point a to point b, and when he realized how prolific that list would be, he promptly gave up hope. 

Before the man could say anything, react in any way, his new companion was already warning him away from the forest. This piqued Pendragon's interest. The manner in which the dark man spoke of his home was forbidding, and Pendragon wasn't sure what to make of the ominous tone. His brow furrowed softly. If this place truly was dangerous, he was therefore glad that Rhona was not here — but simultaneously, he had to wonder exactly where she had gone, and if they would ever reunite.

It was entirely possible that Rhona was offended by his previous departure and did not wish to see him, but Pendragon was hopeful and naive when it came to women; she was a friend and he had made a vow. Surely she was somewhere safe?

I'm sorry, he finally blurted, empathizing with the morose stranger. Losing the safety of one's home is never a welcome experience. But it didn't matter what Pendragon said, or did, at this point. He wished to comfort the stranger but knew deep down that the opinions of a vagrant meant little to a king. 

Me, a vagrant. How things have changed! He thought suddenly, and breathed a deep sigh. Still his curiosity would not be abated, and he probed despite feeling intensely uneasy about the turn in the conversation: If I may ask — why are you unhappy with your home? It is none of my business, of course, sir. I only ask out of necessity, in case the woman I search for is in peril. His head tilted slightly, a worried look within his bright eyes.