Gyrfalcon's Keep Allora, pedala!

Pier, who had trouble distinguishing jokes from seriousness, choked on his first mouthful of falcon and let the half-chewed mess drop to the floor, jaws slack. He made a face at his next words.

Kidding.

Pah. He picked it back up as if nothing had occurred, although his expression betrayed him and conveyed a sufficiently clear portrait of his embarrassment: brows furrowed, the corners of his mouth pulled back into a pained cringe. You are very funny.

The brief lull in the conversation made him wary. He did not consider himself very talkative - he was perhaps even passive in some cases - but he struggled to discern subtext. It all flew over his head. He might as well have been watching a golf ball fly into the bunker.

Much to his relief, when he looked back up from his meal, the traveller seemed to be caught in a pensive mood.

I agree with you, he said, as bold as you are. Or perhaps you're being very honest, and I'm just not used to it.

He scratched dirt over the half-eaten falcon. Walk with me, just to the shore?