Sun Mote Copse Wind singing in the willows

Fig was somewhat surprised at where the conversation went. Not because this wasn't a logical path for it to take, but because people usually didn't go there. Not with him, anyway. In the eyes of those he spent the most time with, he was still quite young. Just a sweet little boy still--someone to shelter from the darker side of life. But Figment was not naive. He was thoughtful, attentive, and perceptive. He didn't need to be told things to know about them.

Still, he had nothing to contribute to the gloomy commentary about life and death. He merely listened, cataloguing the words and tucking them away for safe keeping with a nod. When she changed gears on him, he smiled a bit bashfully. "That makes me sound kinda cool," he commented with a little shake of his head, "Fen's the interesting one, though. I'm just... me." 

He cleared his throat uncertainly, then shrugged. "Anything in particular you wanted to know?" Fig added, not wanting it to seem like he was trying to withhold information from her. He just really didn't know what to say about himself.