"I'm better with my hands," you admit, smirking slightly and leaning back toward the warmth of the fire, your head briefly thrown over your shoulder to look at the woman. "Prefer t'be up close an' personal. But I won't turn down a demonstration, or a lesson." Never too old old to learn new tricks and all that jazz. Not that you expect you could ever be good at it, but hey. If you only did things you were good at you wouldn't do anything at all.
Honestly, you're surprised the Fae let any humans live in the Greatwood at all. "Well, this ain't a bad place t'grow up." You had a good enough time of it, at least. Nothing perfect - nowhere is perfect - but better than a sunless world full of tiny winged assholes, you suspect. "Could do a lot worse by him." Like the Grounds. Seriously, fuck that place.
You put the names away - Felix and Ashetta - and snort a laugh at the warning about bears. "I'll keep an eye out." Not a common sight in Torchline, to be sure - you're not even sure you've see one before - but that will make it notable. You've begun to collect small rocks and sticks around you, an old habit; now you begin to form them into a makeshift castle of debris. "My boy had magic. Messed with water. Used t'be a right nightmare, splashin' us all constantly an' thinkin' it was fuckin' hilarious."
Glancing sidelong at the woman, you once again raise a brow. "Can't imagine wranglin' a bear. 'Specially at sixteen. Sounds like y'got your hands full. His pa help out, at least?" A very subtle way to ask if she's married, Zeph. Smooth as the sand you're sitting on.
Zephyr
you can be the ripest, juciest peach in the world
and there's still going to be someone who hates peaches
and there's still going to be someone who hates peaches
