[h2]Domhnall McRaith[/h2]

	“How nice!” the older black-eyes exclaimed, still with that unbridled enthusiasm Domhnall was now beginning to understand was perhaps characteristic to the man. “I’m a traveler, too, you know. An explorer, even. I really wouldn’t recommend going any further east, though; it gets really uncomfortable over there, you know.” ([u]Aye, too much sand and too few trees, from what I've heard, [/u]some voice in his mind commented in the way of lazy self-irony.)
	Without further ado, the strange man stepped past him and approached Iridiel's perch instead, looking up at her with a wide smile on his face - an action which, in the given instance, made Domhnall tense up by a bit, as evidenced by his face obtaining a slightly more serious mien and a brows furrowing ever so slightly. 
	Not because he assumed any ill intent of the man ... quite the opposite. The fellow left a bit eccentric impression, perhaps, but even leaving aside the lack of evident weapons and formidable statue, there simply was no malevolence present in him. The most he reminded of was a kindly elder (if an exceptionally youthful one; he could not tell how old the man was exactly, but he appeared at least middle-aged, and there were streaks of gray in his otherwise black hair), someone to tell stories and pass on knowledge to the younger generation. There was also an odd kind of almost childlike naivety in him ... in the lack of a better term. 
	It was more about Iridiel, if anything... Not only did she barely speak Rodorian, but she was not much of a person to talk freely to strangers, she was still recovering from her demonstration of godly power and most likely busy praying to Sulis - something he himself generally did not want to bother her at - and atop of all, he had furthermore gotten the impression that not everything was fine on her end right before the newcomers had returned with the rest of their little party. From her agitated muttering, he had gathered something had upset her, though what exactly, he had not an idea. 
	He had just about taken a step after the man to set a hand on his shoulder to quietly point out that his companion was presently communicating with her goddess and it was best not to disturb her while she was occupied thusly, but suddenly, after a slight bow, the man spoke - [i]in Éireann[/i]. The grammar was odd - it was as if someone had taken two sentences in the local language and, word by word, translated them into Iridiel's dialect of their language, paying no heed to natural word order. It was enough to give him a momentary pause, arm halfway raised.
[i]	“Greetings, Favored of Sulis. I am at your service.”[/i]

[h2]Iridiel[/h2]

	Iridiel, still shaken after her... "discussion" with Sulis, let us call it, snapped back to reality at the sound of the Mother Goddess' name. A man was addressing her... How odd it must have looked to him, to speak to a young woman sitting halfway up a tree who was previously looking agitated and nervous and talking seemingly to themselves. 
	[i]He probably thinks I'm some insane lunatic who was sent away from her home before she did something stupid... Not wholly inaccurate.[/i] She thought as she steadied herself on the branch she was sitting on. 
	Then, it struck her. The man was speaking to her in her own language, and very well, to boot! Had he visited the Contaetha, had he learned their language whilst there? Hopefully the Gorman tongue wasn't too confusing for him to hear...
 	[i]"You... you know Eireann! How do you know? Wait... my apologies. I suppose I should introduce myself first. Iridiel Kavanagh, in other languages; in my home tongue, Caomhanach. You're fluent in Eireann... you're the first either of us have met who can talk to us without having to resort to... um... whatever it is they speak around here."[/i]

[h2]Domhnall McRaith[/h2]

	"Ye speak Éireann?" he echoed, quietly, as he got over his initial bafflement, half-wary, half-surprised eyes flickering between Olan and what little was visible of his companion between the branches and sparse yellowing autumn leaves - he himself was still using Rodorian, both because it would have felt incredibly odd resorting to his own tongue with a stranger after having only been able to speak it when conversing with Iridiel for so long, and because being able to speak in oddly-constructed Éireann was not necessarily indicative of the ability to also comprehend the harsher Albhain dialect he himself typically spoke in. 
	"It's a firs', fer cer'ain," he furthermore affirmed Iridiel's statement.