Bramblepoint o achilles,

a dark pelaged stranger approaches, a boy dracarys assumes is his son trailing behind. the scent of rabbit lingers in the air, melding with their own. loners, if the lack of others was anything for dracarys to go off of — and he does.

frostbound gaze studies them for a moment, left ear twitching at the question regarding his native tongue. the tongue of my home, replies dracarys, the switch strange for a moment. the common heavy upon his tongue, weighing it down. we have no name for it. for it hadn't needed a name.

created out of necessity, perhaps. or boredom. dracarys is not sure, knows he would never know.

though exploration and familiarizing himself with the territories 'round the mesa had been his plan when he'd set out before sunrise, he switches gears now; frostbound gaze going from man to boy.

i am dracarys. you two alone? winter is unkind to loners of these lands.