The stranger’s greeting is more of a half-hearted acknowledgement. It’s a curiosity that he merely flicks an ear towards Ramiel. The growing boy is used to immediate interest, used to near whiplash as one horse was called out by another. He doesn’t realize that those reactions were due to the quiet nature of the place, a desperate desire for social exchanges which had been lacking. He has grown up in a time of serenity, certainly, but also a time of loneliness for many.
But he’s not offended by Weir’s commitment to his walk. He notices the man’s concentration on where he places his feet and figures he’s simply being safe. The trails out this far can definitely be tricky. Deep ravines slice into the mountainsides, formed by thousands of years of trickling water. One can lose their footing (or their foot, or their life, even) if they aren’t careful. Ramiel takes the roan’s easy reaction as being a welcome to join him, and he moves up just behind and to the side of him. “Yes, I know Elysteria. She and my mother are good friends.” A hare chooses to dart out from its burrow at that moment, crossing the trail just ahead of the traveling pair. It leaps fearlessly off into the unknown, long legs springing it into the darkness of the forest. Ramiel admires its heedless courage and wonders how much blind faith it had taken for Weir to join them.
“I’m glad you took her up on her offer, Weir. I think you'll like it here.” He glances sidelong at the stallion, smiling. The Dale is always hungry for new blood – what kingdom isn’t, truly – but what it really needs is strong blood. Newcomers could be easily led to the Dale, but few of them fulfilled their pledge to it. Few of them stayed long enough to leave roots or a lasting impression. It’s disheartening, but Ramiel is starting to realize that it is the nature of the beast. He hopes Weir will find the mountains as inspiring as he does; he hopes that the man will see the quiet as peace and a place to prosper. The Dale can be whatever anyone wants it to be (a home, a workplace, a forever) as long as they have the vision for it.
“Talulah is my mother. She’s the strange, metal one you can see a mile off.” A grin pulls at his lips then, a last refuge of childhood mischief. Only recently has he realized that his mother is possibly unique in appearance. Her cold-as-stone skin had cradled him as a colt – he hadn’t known anything else – but now he understands it to be different rather than the norm. He still loves her of course, but he will take any opportunity he can to poke fun at her, too. It’s what all children do to their parents. “What about yours’? Are you from Beqanna?” The greying boy knows that there is a world outside, but he’s never met anyone from it. Watching Weir watch a beetle, his endless inquisitiveness is visibly piqued. They have a great deal of curiosity in common, it seems.
r a m i e l
what a day to begin again