Golden Glade à travers la forêt de nos cœurs

He's not quite experienced enough to accurately interpret the lack of enthusiasm he finds in her response, though he notes it all the same. It makes him feel a little more shy about the interaction, and he pauses briefly before he can come up with an answer of his own, swallowing and trying desperately to ignore the confusing knot twisting in his stomach. Part of him wonders if he's doing something wrong by being here — but he won't truly believe that until he hears it from mom or dad, of course. It's quiet here, He offers simply, pausing again. What's your name?