Bramblepoint when the sun is perched at it's highest peak,

you meet many hostile? he chuckled, eyebrows moving slightly upwards.

forneskja, he would keep the name in mind, should he stumble upon it. perhaps it would be worth it to seek these people out, as a home, albeit probably temporary, could be safe for him and his son. though, if cicero was unsure of it, iseldur would not be too certain, either. curious expression, then, thoughtful, as he spoke: what you think?

of, eh, forneskja. you cleric, do they be nice to clerics? words were gruff, thick in the sound of his mother tongue. broken common was not rare upon these parts, he did not think, although it was somewhat embarrassing when he compared it to the easy english of cicero. his accent did not go unnoticed by the knight. rather, he envied the familiarity with common in which he spoke with. trustworthy, you think?

a hum, then. honest with his intentions. me and squire go there, maybe. if you be going there. safe for winter to ... band? together, was that the right word? come as one. hunt. feed all. good for growing boy... another chuckle, now, as he spoke of his son. he would not say it out loud, but he truly did see cathal as one of his own.

his brood. any whelp there? forneskja?