The female in front of him looked as unsure about him as he was about her. As she answered his question, his hand slowly dropped, his mind slowly turning the information over before discarding it, finding it too much for his simple thought process to understand. He stared at her uncertainly, twisting his hands together until the bones creaked, and finally made the sighing sound again, softer and with an uncertain cock of his head. He didn't understand; but the word that had stood out most was "Sky", and so he turned it over some more, and finally his hand moved cautiously, pointing again to her and then slowly moving up, pointing at the starry night above him. Hoooo...oo? There was an uplift to the end of his sigh this time, but he dropped his hand before she answered, his eyes caught the shine in hers, and he spaced out, his own eyes glazing and becoming unfocused. Absently he wondered if Fion would be back soon, and let his eyes drift to the bandages on his arms. He began tugging them tighter and looser, and finally unwrapped them altogether, humming absently to himself as he did so. It revealed more and more burned skin, some more obviously scarred than others, but it wasn't until he came to a particularly ruined, crackled patch near his elbow that he stopped, and began poking at it curiously, flinching when it hurt.
Fion returned as he did this, the young boy stopping to watch worriedly before leaving the plate on the bench leading back into the wagon in the hopes it would lure Daemon back into the wagon. He approached slowly, placing himself between the stranger and his craft master, usually a sign that the latter wasn't expected to add anything to the conversation--at least, that was the way he seemed to take it. He reached up and scratched the back of his head in embarrassment as he looked at her, grinning apologetically. Ah'm rally sorry... He shifted nervously, realizing Daemon wasn't going away any time soon, and added, Ya can' rally blame 'im, though; 's far 's Ah can tell, he's dumb. Er, he can' speak. Or, ya know...do anything. He felt bad speaking about the man who was taking care of him--and by that, he meant giving him somewhere to sleep and something to do, mostly--like that, but it was the truth. From what Fion had learned, Daemon couldn't do anything but his trade--it was probably why he was so good at it.
E's only rally good at leatherworkin'. 'E's teachin' me th' trade. He added, somewhat eagerly, as this was something he was quite proud of--getting a dumb master to teach you was quite a feat, all things considered. Almost as an afterthought, he added, Do we...need to move? Or could we...stay? The question had a double-meaning; Fion was getting tired of traveling around--it made it harder to learn, when Daemon had such odd hours and Fion was tired from driving all day. It was also hard to take care of him, when he was mute and Fion himself such an amateur hunter; some help would be nice.
[/html]