Hap's delicate brow furrowed, a crease breaking the smooth, timelessness of it's face. Words, for all that they were a boon, were a road to confusion more often than not. It was not that Wilhelm spoke in vocabulary which the Keeper found difficult to understand. Even the Keeper had had time with trees, with leaves, with water, even. Albeit distant, these things could be reached by sledge and many steps by its self and its dogs. 

It rose and settled in the chair with Wilhelm exhausted at its feet, a pup on its knee. Despite the inherent lacks of understanding, the creature had settled in to unentangle this mystery in much the same way it had the netting. One knot at a time, one tangle, the world which Wilhelm spoke of would come to sight and they would then know of what they spoke. 

“My home is here,” Hap waved a hand about them. “I have lived under stone and above the sun for ...” The Keeper paused then its slim lips quirked. “I cannot recall arriving,” it mused softly to itself, then turned its great eyes back upon the spent troll. 

“But,” it continued, “if you must call it Home as you walk within, you are welcome to.” With a pause, the small Keeper's tail beat a soft tattoo with the tip upon the back of the chair upon which it sat. In that almost stillness, Hap's furrow grew and with a soft sigh, it shook its head sadly. 

“I have seen leaves upon the trees in the twilight mountains, but they are not quite so large as your hands,” it gave a grave nod toward his hands. “Nor, have I see others of your kind, but I do not travel often or far. There is much to do here.” 

Dimly, within the vast reaches which were the lands of Hap's memory, there was kept a frozen moment in which Home had been lost. Hap slid fingertips about the pup's fattened belly and rubbed as the memory clarified. The pup had quieted so the new attention caused it to crack its milky lips in a smacking moan before it snuffled into sleep once more. No great thing, this memory. It did not pang, nor did it do more than gain edges like ancient ice might when scored. Still, it had a solidity to it which left Hap sensing that the loss had been painful. In a fit of kindness, the Keeper abandoned the line of questioning for want of a more pressing problem. 

“Do you drink?” it asked as it opened the bottle with one hand. From the darkness rose the sharply sweet scent of fermentation. Casually, Hap leaned forward and held the bottle to its guest.