Stone Circle I need to find a place where my heart can go to heal.

A complex answer, maybe, but one Merrit had asked for - and one he hoped the man would share without any fishing. The youth did notice a slight change in the other in the silence that lapsed between them. Yet what he saw, he could not exactly place. Nothing dangerous, just... different, but neutrality stole back over the face of the stranger. Interesting. And Merrit offered the slightest narrowing of his eyes.

The stranger gave him very little to work with, and Merrit would sit here til Winter, if that meant collecting the extent of information he wished to acquire. And perhaps he would have until Winter, and even beyond that, if his mother deemed this man a worthy addition to their pack. Funny, how the man's vagueness dissatisfied, yet simultaneously stirred a strange thread of empathy in Merrit's own thoughts toward him. For as distrustful as the Raven felt toward any newcomer who sought out Easthollow, he felt a connection with this one, an understanding.

Merrit made no initial remark; he took the information, tucked it away, and tipped his head the slightest at the stranger's introduction. Sorin Direwood. A name to put to the face. "Yes." He said, in response to Sorin's question. "And I trust she will join us shortly." @Valette would find her way to them, she always did. Until then, he had his own ground to work.

"If you seek a place to mend and find purpose here, you have chosen well. Stay, and you will become family. United, strong." Only, Merrit was not - and if Sorin's eyes remained on his face, he would betray himself by the slightest flinch of his brow before he pulled the stone through his eyes to regain a sense of neutrality, to return to the strength he often feigned. He was Merrit, son of Valette, an heir of Easthollow. This was who he was; this made him strong. "Have you come from a pack? You clearly have family, if you choose to carry a surname you are not afraid to bear."