Qeya River Through the endless daydream

Teenage awkwardness clung to the child in a way that radiated off of him painfully. Dægmar was amused by whatever motivated this stranger- boredom, perhaps? To approach a lone wolf with such casual words and unplanned questions. But along with that amusement came a fatherly warmth; endeared by that lack of social skill that reminded him of his own oldest brood, and the brood that could have been, had Sundrea not faced such difficulties. Sundrea. He dismissed the thought of her, finding their unsolved quarrels too painful to dwell on now. 

At the question, a dry laughter, a smile that did not meet the druid's eyes. Var. Var is vhat brings me 'ere, to yer lands, He explains in a low breath. Me old 'ome is nae more. Golden gaze fell to the water. Never a man of many words, and not a master of social interaction himself, the inkspot was quiet then. He doubted the child had seen the likes of real violence, and knew it oft stirred intrigue in the young who longed to hear stories of battle. But Dæg was the sort who needed to be prompted for further words.