Firefly Glen cutting shapes

At the tip of his tongue the silence held, a heavy weight that was no burden to bear as he pondered the metaphysical. Dirge really gave little pause to such things, apt to find them trivial. There were other things he bothered himself with, survival the obvious contender atop the pile. Such was the life that he had become acquainted with however.

So when the initial repeat question of from around here? came into play, he was not surprised. His head shook in response — he wasn't. He did feel similar to Charon in the fact that they were guides to introductions. Formalities to more formalities that passed the time. It didn't seem like it deserved words; they were either all from there or they weren't, and he was willing to bet that Charon wasn't the non-native here.

His nonchalance to it all was whisked away, however, on one and only one point in their dialogue: Ostrega. If it hadn't been for the distraction of following Charon's gesture, Dirge may have lost a hold on the stoicism that cloaked his face. A thousand more questions went alight at the back of his mind; his voice speaking out was the only thing to silence them.

"Fitting name for a mountain," he said, "and you can call me Dirge." Though he was never too keen at tacking on a surname to begin with, the omission here seemed wise. Likewise, he quelled the pressing urge of wanting to seek out his siblings then and there with a followup: "Though I must admit, I am curious what brought you out here to do your stargazing. Surely a mountain provides a better view than a forest."

sorry for the delay