Barrow Fields it's brains without hearts have set saint against sinner

It would better to move on, he thinks. There is nothing here resembling his homeland and nothing is familiar, yet he continues to chose the opposite course of action - he lingered among the trees hoping that the dark wolf would come back, and when that did not work, he found his way to these barrows only to be disappointed again. The mist breathes a sigh and seems to forget that the fox-wolf is there; he inspects the mounds a little further, but when she murmurs a sound ("h-hei,") he flicks an ear; her question is as effective, with barely any response from the ghost. But then, he seems to register something, as the flicker of an idea crosses through his mind and he turns his head to look at her again.

Dracarys, he says hastily, and nods his head. Then he enunciates, Dra-car-ess, and tries to motion to himself with a flick of a wrist - my name. After a beat he looks at her expectantly and says, Ao? Brōzi? It feels odd to do this dance when before, all the creatures of the realm would know of him. Would covet him, speak his name as sovereign - fearful if they spoke it in the night, mystified by it. Yet here in this new place where he meant nothing, he could not even hold a conversation.