Chachanji tensed at the voice, letting out a tiny "meep" that echoed a bit too loudly in his ears given the small space he had wedged himself into. As the urgency and panic slowly drained away with the fading buzz of the hornet's wings, he ventured a wary glance over the edge of his little bronze shield. The pair of violet eyes were still wide and wet with the remnants of terrified tears. As such, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust - even with his natural Dunesfolk gloss - and take in the visage of his savior.
Savior... Even the word caused his ears to burn a bit in embarrassment. He was supposed to be a hero! He was supposed to be the one doing the saving, not the other way around! He knew his armor and sword were totally up to the task, so it both upset and confused him that he would crack so readily once under pressure.
All those worries and concerns melted away, however, once he got a look at the gentleman who had chased off the hornet. With all the awe and wonder Chachanji had for the Sultansworn, the young Lalafell was quick to identify the garb - differently hued as it was. His surprise was marred a little by the fact that, when he straightened in surprise, he neatly clonked his head against the "roof" of his little hidey-hole. He then deemed it a rather good idea to crawl out before continuing any sort of conversation.
"Ow..." he moaned weakly as he clambered to a full standing position - which was not much, given his wee stature - and rubbed the afflicted area of his head. A couple brief rubs and he quickly turned his violet-hued attentions to the armored man before him, flashing a sheepish smile. "Oh! Um... many thanks, ser!"
He was at a loss for words on how to continue, though. What would he say? That he was out swinging a sword at the wildlife like a loon in an attempt to shore up the skills needed to be a hero? That, despite having some decently crafted arms and armor, that he had turned tail without even testing their merits against his foe?
Gran decided around that point to rejoin his master, bumping him neatly in the behind and sending the little Lalafell stumbling forward a step. Chacha looked over his shoulder to discern the cause of the sudden impact, and his worry was quickly replaced with a childish anger. Forgetting the rather tall and fully armored gentleman for the moment, he whirled to face the baby behemoth.
"Gran!" he childed, waggling a chubby finger the behemoth's way. "Where were you? You were supposed to have my back!"
Gran snuffled in response.
"Don't give me that look! I know you don't know howta throw rocks yet but you coulda done something!"
It was quite the sight to see, a wee Lalafell verbally dressing down what looked more or less like a purple, horned piglet.
Savior... Even the word caused his ears to burn a bit in embarrassment. He was supposed to be a hero! He was supposed to be the one doing the saving, not the other way around! He knew his armor and sword were totally up to the task, so it both upset and confused him that he would crack so readily once under pressure.
All those worries and concerns melted away, however, once he got a look at the gentleman who had chased off the hornet. With all the awe and wonder Chachanji had for the Sultansworn, the young Lalafell was quick to identify the garb - differently hued as it was. His surprise was marred a little by the fact that, when he straightened in surprise, he neatly clonked his head against the "roof" of his little hidey-hole. He then deemed it a rather good idea to crawl out before continuing any sort of conversation.
"Ow..." he moaned weakly as he clambered to a full standing position - which was not much, given his wee stature - and rubbed the afflicted area of his head. A couple brief rubs and he quickly turned his violet-hued attentions to the armored man before him, flashing a sheepish smile. "Oh! Um... many thanks, ser!"
He was at a loss for words on how to continue, though. What would he say? That he was out swinging a sword at the wildlife like a loon in an attempt to shore up the skills needed to be a hero? That, despite having some decently crafted arms and armor, that he had turned tail without even testing their merits against his foe?
Gran decided around that point to rejoin his master, bumping him neatly in the behind and sending the little Lalafell stumbling forward a step. Chacha looked over his shoulder to discern the cause of the sudden impact, and his worry was quickly replaced with a childish anger. Forgetting the rather tall and fully armored gentleman for the moment, he whirled to face the baby behemoth.
"Gran!" he childed, waggling a chubby finger the behemoth's way. "Where were you? You were supposed to have my back!"
Gran snuffled in response.
"Don't give me that look! I know you don't know howta throw rocks yet but you coulda done something!"
It was quite the sight to see, a wee Lalafell verbally dressing down what looked more or less like a purple, horned piglet.