"Aye, that so?" Eamon grinned, flicking his head to get a better look at his companion. His hair was short, not long and tied back or choppy, as he'd expected, and his clean, white chemise and black breeches suggested he came from money. He turned his head to look on ahead, take in sun and buildings and the trees that didn't grow like this in his own country. 
 Six months was not enough to fathom how beautiful this land was--shielded from the cold winds that lay waste to the rest of the world. Forests grew thick here, rounding hills and--bless it--few swamps. Even from what he'd seen on the underside of a coach, there were very few fiefdoms whose towns and cities were anywhere close to run-down.
 He took a flask of spirits from his pouch, took a swig, and offered it to the other.
 "Me name's Eamon, I'm from off the coast. I've not been to Bellmaker, an' I've been all over Araluen; what's it like, sham?"