Dragoncrest Cliffs son of none

He doesn't know what to say at first or maybe he's deliberating, thinking of all the different things he could say before deciding on the right course of action. If he says the wrong thing they'll chase him off, of course. Maybe he'll say the wrong thing on purpose just to see what will happen. There are many of them and he knows this would be the wrong thing to do, that it would lead to a fight, but sometimes that's all Edmund is after. Something to liven up the world. Some entertainment to get his blood pumping. Otherwise he feels empty. Ah, but he's thinking too hard about it.

When he finally speaks there has been a pregnant pause bordering on an awkward one, and still he looks to the fine-boned youth, for they appear to be in charge. I would like to stay. Winter will be here before too long. They aren't that appealing as a group, but Edmund doesn't know anything about them. Maybe they're a bunch of religious zealots. Maybe they adhere to some sort of tribal tradition involving sacrifice and cannibalism. They seem like a healthy group, if a bit young. He could work with that, and whatever else they have hidden away will be fun to explore. If you have food to spare and room for one more, I could be of use to you as another hunter, or a messenger, and I have been taught the basics of medicine as well, although that is a small fib; he is well versed in medicine but refuses to sell himself on that aspect of his life. 

He is watching Blixen as intently as he can, although without a shred of emotion it could easily be misconstrued as intensely unsettling.