Though no one gathered here (save Rakt and Ashamin, maybe) could rightly claim any strong tie with anyone else, a certain feeling hovers over the meeting. It reminds Hé of the sunlight he so recently reunited with — of wildflowers blooming and the joyful play of seafoam and even the soft sigh of the wind through petal-laden branches. Home, he names the sensation with silent delight. The lost prince, so far from his birthplace he might now call those mountains a dream, carries home in his breast, in the exact colors he finds in the sky only at morning and the endlessly delightful tilt of a stranger's laugh. His attention jumps evenly from Lyanna to Ashamin to Rakt, so comfortable and well-timed a gesture it betrays no unease — only a most intrepid interest. Even knowing as little as he does, Hé foresees no future in which his mere presence unites their disparate interests, and yet he plays idly, optimistically with the thought of conversing all day, learning what there is to learn, winning the affection of the marvelous and yet childishly shy buck clinging to Ashamin's side. How many doors there are to open in Helovia!

His heart pounds in his chest if he allows himself to think too hard on it. Hé reins in his excitement by degrees, asking his interest to narrow down again to now. Breathe, breathe. There is time. There is so much time to explore and exult, he need not rush himself — yet here he is. Rushing.

Small ears cock toward Ashamin's voice yet again, only a little perturbed to find he took the measure of the stallion rather incorrectly. The calm, kindly manner of the monochrome stallion would befit a priest, Hé thinks, consoling himself. To wander as one wished, seeking only knowledge, bound by no loyalty save to a few companions and the whims of curiosity.... Hé imagines this life. Imagines himself in this life. The songs of the great palace lie so far behind him he no longer recalls enough words to string them together — more holes than notes of sound. And the fires burning in the night sky are all lost to Hé forever. He ought to stop reminiscing, comparing everything of Helovia's waking light to everything he remembers from before... Nostalgia cripples the mind. Fear deadens its feet.

He is alive.

It's in the rest of Ashamin's answer, though, Hé finds an immediate distraction and a true jolt of surprise. A warrior? He'd never have guessed, not given the whole afternoon! Delighted and warm, laughter, bursts from his throat in several golden notes. His eyes sparkle as they land on Rakt's display, more than a hint of admiration hiding in the depths — and something else. Hé doesn't name the other emotion, does not give if precedence, but it lingers, a shadow behind the easy language of his smile. "A warrior? My friend, you're an inspiration!" Even as he speaks, Hé's eyes linger on the buck, questions firing again and again in the back of his mind. Bondmate, is the word, new and exciting, he stores away most carefully for later.

He tears himself from Rakt before it gets uncomfortable, and studies Ashamin with new eyes for the first time. True, Hé wouldn't have guessed soldier, mercenary, or even the kind of monk suited to martial mastery. Nothing in the spotted stallion's life has prepared him for measuring the differences between a warrior's stance and a common creature's. He might be observant in other ways, but he knows nothing of this particular art beyond what damage it promises his own person. He's at once drawn closer in and repulsed, intrigued and frightened. Ultimately, the fear pushes him forward simply because it wants so badly to push him back.

"Maybe you could teach me something," he jokes, the term dead weight coming to mind in a most literal sense. "But Ashamin, I am curious about your friends and this... land." Hé can't rightly call it a kingdom, but he falters over the appropriate term. "What must a stranger do to wander Helovia's lands freely, like you do?" Not forever, he thinks. Maybe not even for long — the nomad's life will never, has never, suited him. But he can hardly decide to leave without knowing what he leaves behind, and he can hardly pledge to stay without knowing to what he pledges himself.