the centuries fade below my feet

It was that brief, thoughtful-seeming pause between the answer to the first and second questions that gave Mordecai a shred of interest. Or maybe it was just hope underneath the guise of interest; either way, he found his attention was ready to settle wholly on the two-toned wanderer.

“Well, you could be in luck,” he started off, studying the appropriate expression (or lack thereof) on the yearling's face. “I happen to know a place that might be willing to take you in. What are you good at?” Though his own version of an interview was awkward, it couldn't have been avoided. Mordecai was no recruiter, not even much of a greeter. As it were, he had sailed directly into uncharted territory.