Seaside Moors my boy builds coffins with hammers and nails

Thanks parted from her lips and he couldn’t help but feel disappointed by the words—the language—chosen. Perhaps he was reading too far into it, seeking something that wasn’t there simply because he missed that part of him—maybe the necessary accents weren’t as hard to replicate as he liked to believe. With a slow shake of his head, he rid himself of those thoughts for the time being; eventually, he would seek her out, once she was settled, but for now…

“I’ll take my leave now,” he said, looking between the pair. “Rosencrantz has a lot to show you.” And a lot to tell, he was sure, as the shore was its own world. “I hope we can talk more after you settle in.” He had questions that begged to be asked, a curiosity that must be satisfied, even if not by the words he hoped to hear. But until then, Aningan nodded to them both then took his leave, as he said he would; there was no point in him tagging along for the tour, after all.