Seaside Moors Storms cause our flowers to bloom

His face darkens though he is unsure of what to say, so he remains in a silence which he hopes will be construed as tactful and not heartless. 

Of course. Valravn, huh? He's quieter now, the affable humor replaced by some sleight-of-hand pensiveness that has him looking off to a faraway point pinned someone along the choppy horizon. Of course, he repeats. 

Around them still throbs the ocean in all its weary blues. A fleet of gulls in chevron formation fly out to sea in the overhead murky turbulence and he cranes his neck back to look at them as they disappear into pinpoints and then nothing. Back to Rosalyn, So how's the kid like?