Starglow Basin that long black cloud is comin' down

There's always more to see. He quipped. The stranger hadn't gone much farther than this, which was baffling to Riddle. He chose not to question it too hard; different strokes for different folks.

As for what he liked, well— Its the little things. I said that before, but its true.

I like the spray of the sea, and the storms that brew far-off. I like the challenge of the mountains, too. Then there's the... what'd'ya callit, mystique...? Aye, that, of the deep forest where you can't hear nothin' but your own breath, or the trees shiverin', and you can't much tell either apart.

As he walked with the stranger, he thought further back.

I miss things sometimes. Pa's jokes, Ma's belly-aching over them being not right for little ears. He huffed a small sound, not quite a laugh. What sorta things you like 'bout this place? The quiet and the peaceful can be mighty fine, till you've had almost too much.