Blackfeather Woods too short, walking the streets, i'm hating my haircut

He takes the request quietly, following Rowan into the woods with watchful eyes. He takes in everything, committing it to memory as they plunge into the shadowy woods. He listens, too, though the words disturb him more deeply than he could ever voice. Rowan speaks of all the things he'd grown up fearing; of hearing and feeling things you can't see, of vague omens and indirect interactions. He shivers imperceptibly, to think that perhaps his own experiences had been the Daedra.
But if it was, does that mean his fear had been misplaced? Curiosity bleeds into his emotions, seeping in at the edges of his thoughts. What do you have to do to hear them? Is it random? He finds himself asking after a line of thought he never thought he'd pursue. Inviting the hallucinations — that's a new one. Yet, the thought is almost irresistibly intriguing.