Sleeping Dragon Crackjaw

Phoenix was a little taken aback by his company's reassurance. The validation felt entirely foreign to him and the warm feeling he got from it resulted in a mightily stupid grin. He was too busy feeling self-important to notice that his skull-hunting comment had dampened the mood for his scarred acquaintance, but luckily enough for the both of them, he was young and dense enough to sweep them both away in a welcomed distraction.

Now he began to pay closer attention to the male. He was mindful to pace his stride as they went, and though surprised that the stranger pursued a subject he'd thought passed by, Phoenix was always ready to brag and he didn't hide his delight at being asked. It was like no one had ever asked about him before. "The best luck, actually. I found my namesake first," he gushed. "It was called Phoenix Maplewood when my mom lived there, and it's this really great forest not too far from here— but I didn't get to spend much time there because it's claimed or whatever."

He'd huffed out that last bit, but didn't seem any less cheerful for it. "Oh! Yeah, duh, and I'm Phoenix. Named after the woods."