Taking a stony finger to his chin, the lord of rock and rubble pondered for a moment. The question was a puzzler for sure, who am I, [i]who am I?[/i] The young mortal hadn't even seen the golem for but a moment, and already asking such perplexing twisters. But, since he was somewhat short on time he opted for an easier answer, one that could not possibly reach the fathoms of such a question, "You may know me as the Hermit." the stone giant rasped in his earthen tone.

	"And what would I have the pleasure to call you, young mortal?" He added, all the while barely glancing here and there at the fae of the fall court. Perhaps it was intrusion that he had sprung upon them, but then, he could learn so very much from the human. And thus, Orðabók would live with whatever could come of the encounter.

	Surely these fae had not been keeping this boy as a pet for too long, unlike that ashen girl of the Fall King. And the mighty stone golem wondered of the poor mortality that leads to something so akin to slavery. Would they do the same to the young boy? Could Orðabók allow such to happen? He was a neutral force after all, but something surely didn't feel right to him.