Dragoncrest Cliffs the working class

The sea is not something he's altogether familiar with, and yet he's settled in to a position along the cliffside that affords a wide view. He's staring down at the raging sea when the rain starts; at first he thinks he is imagining the small prickling of drops against his ears, his scalp, his shoulders — but soon the sky is opening up and the spitting becomes a salinated drizzle. Edmund doesn't hesitate to remove himself from the sharp ledge where he's been loitering for the past half hour or so, and sets his mind on more important ventures. Namely, proving himself, as the commander so adamantly required of him.

He wants to learn about these strangers, but they do not trust him and they have no real reason to. The most he can do — for his own gain — is try to listen in on their conversations as he passes them in the territory. This is difficult too, he finds. They do not speak clearly and while he develops a small understanding of the differences in the language, he cannot translate all of it. The few he does drift by become sullen, shooting him glances he chooses to ignore, and so he goes on his way without inturruption but also without further information.

You'd think that Edmund would be aware of his awkwardness, or at least his sociopathic vibe, but he's not.