Stavanger Bay xxxvii. you've got a beautiful brain

Though she gave him an apology for the question and her related curiosity on the matter of him, he had been prepared to answer anyway--not that such a response had any earnest meat to it, so her nosiness didn't bother. In his time reflecting, and being selfish to his own whims most of all, he had not yet found the answer, though maybe time had made him less anxious about it. Perhaps more accepting of such unknown. I don't know yet, he said quietly, and wished he did know, short of how everything may fall into place. He sensed opportunity, vast and endless as any horizon, but there was a horrible gravity to him here still.

Listening on to her softened his mien a bit, able to look away from the depths for now. Ah. I was not in a very sociable sort of way last time I was with Moonglow's lot. I'm Antares Ostrega, he said back simply, surname and all, because likewise, it seemed as if she knew him better as a concept--and a straggler of the mountain's fall, though perhaps more tied to the Glen due to his lead there in the end. To him she was largely some type of herbalist, or something close, of Moonglow. Not that he had taken time to acquaint himself well with the wolves who followed Kukutux. Who, speaking of: She is my aunt, he provided for her sake, for although his uncle was gone, nothing was going to change this; Antares considered her the same as any other blood. The only one to make it off the mountain, seemed relevant to him, while Lótë couldn't know the full extent of what this was--just how deep the loss had been.