Silvertip Mountain but what's inside you?

whoever the stranger is, he's facing towards the light, and urias gets a good look at him. handsome, he thinks. sure of himself. for a good reason, i'm guessing.
incendiary eyes. like a blast furnace, or the engine of a steam locomotive. you could almost hear the bellows wheezing. he returns the smile with his glasgow scar. very, he says, his gaze flitting back and forth from the geode-like centre and the top of the stranger's head. red hair, almost like a mohawk. he's reminded of those greek helmets and their plumes. ever seen anything like it? he asks, curiosity turning over in his head.