Brindle struggled, he really did. Somehow, as much as he struggled, the big roe seemed even less to notice, not even when Brindle showed off his impressive vocabulary of dockside words. In the end, he wore himself out, and resolved to make himself as much of a burden as possible: he went limp under Styrm's arm and went unresponsive in general.
He was still listening. In fact, as they moved and as he watched Styrm in his interactions, he began to get a funny feeling in his gut. There was something different about the roe, about the way he moved and talked, about the way he asked questions. Even the way he got frustrated. Brindle would have said he was clueless, but even that wasn't so, not exactly. It was more like he was all rusted up and picking it off in bits, bright steel showing in spades.
It took two places, with Brindle existing in a mostly sullen silence, before he chose to speak words that were not prompted by spite or the urge to jeer at Styrm.
"Who are ye?"
He was still listening. In fact, as they moved and as he watched Styrm in his interactions, he began to get a funny feeling in his gut. There was something different about the roe, about the way he moved and talked, about the way he asked questions. Even the way he got frustrated. Brindle would have said he was clueless, but even that wasn't so, not exactly. It was more like he was all rusted up and picking it off in bits, bright steel showing in spades.
It took two places, with Brindle existing in a mostly sullen silence, before he chose to speak words that were not prompted by spite or the urge to jeer at Styrm.
"Who are ye?"
