Ill-Made Martyr [Open]

Peter nodded at the offer of outside. His head was spinning enough without the dusty air of the broken down house they were in adding to it. He stepped back out through the door when Maea gestured, obviously uncomfortable in the lead, and turned around to watch her follow as soon as he was past the threshold. She was the most familiar thing he had to grasp onto now, and kinder than most people had ever been to him. Of course, now that he had realized he wasn’t in immediate danger, Peters eyes wandered around the settlement more than they had the first time he’d burst out into the open air. There was so much green here, and more liveliness than he had ever been a part of. He nearly took a step away, following some small thug that had caught his eye and been lost again almost immediately when Maea’s voice drew his attention back to her. ”I’m sorry.” He said automatically, not sure if he was apologizing for his distraction or for forgetting his introduction in the first place. ”My name is... is P-P-Peter, but you... you can call me whatever you want.” It didn’t seem an odd power to offer Maea, after all she’d done for him already. Peter The only thing I know is this: I am full of wounds and still standing on my feet.