Qeya River outstretched arm, and upturned hand

there are times imrathil feels guilty for his incessant queries: he had always been a boy with a wagging tongue, always been curious -- and that insatiable interest in knowledge had persisted into adulthood -- and, apparently, persisted through traumatic brain injuries too.

wardruna shouldered such a burden with a studied patience; imathril admired the man openly, for there were many things about the northerner that still awed him. he managed to keep his trap shut long enough for wardruna to laboriously compile an answer. imrathil supposes the description of the south was not exactly appealing -- rocks and more rocks were not his idea of an easy landscape.

for a moment in time it looked like imrathil was giving intelligent and careful thought; but then the old, rash ingram rose to the surface -- perhaps the first in a long time: "well.. to hell with rocks, and the south, and jotunns. and to hell with this stupid river, too." he kicked at a pebble with a blunted paw and then inspected the wearied eye of his comrade: "we can rest up there; what's for dinner?"