Deepwood Weald don't tell me how we've grown

Marruz only huffed a small cloud of vapor into the air at her initial words. He stared stonily at the woman and occassionally allowed the indigo iris to wander. It caught, however, at the notion of his relation. 

He immediately scrutinized his newfound aunt; orbs searching hard despite the contextual paucity. She was... what? Was that benevolent? Was this kindred warmth shallowly concealed by a slight note of condescension? Marruz simply didn't - for the first time in his life - know what to make of it. There was no way in the blue skies that this lady was affiliated in any way to his father. 

And so it happened that for a long moment he could only just manage to keep his composure undecipherable. The turmoil beneath only shimmered in his strange, blank gaze. When he spoke, his voice was thin and tugged along, like a kite diving through the wind. Somewhere within, there was even recognition.

"Megara..." he repeated, blinking as he murmured the word. Yes, he had heard it before - a long while back when his grey sock had only been but a physical distinction between he and his kin. Marruz suddenly felt as though his legs were unusually long, having been so accustomed to this women reaching high above him. If the boy could ever laugh, it might have been at that moment. Alas, the script continued. "Yes."

He shook his head abruptly. Memories and concerns washed hesitantly away upon his limber frame. He morphed back into the man he was becoming — the one that would not break. Ever. 

"Well, I am still young," was all he managed through his sudden irritation. He had let too much leak already, and with a curt dip of his head he turned as though to depart. He had not lost any of his former roguery. It was his only escape; the only thing he knew to do in such situations."And you" - Marruz knit his brow - "are obviously not."