[color=a0410d]Reflection preached that smiles shrewd often tentatively break, yet why then would ‘honest’ eyes yet swear by an honest make? By all the stars glittering and strewn wildly in the shattered dim’s wake, if Truth was the issue…would he really be lying here, awake? Ifor rumbled in irritation – at the throbbing cries of his wounds, at his lack of context on this mysterious stretch of rock and grit...and something about the only partially revealed stranger still had his mind at unease. However, the strongest chain was only determined by its weakest link, and a chain of one bruised and weathered link couldn’t carry much favor in the eyes of the Fateful Hags; with a heave and a grunt, Ifor towed himself up onto an equal knee by “Oliver’s” outstretched hand.

The orange rimlight slanted askew across the fresh-faced man’s previously silhouetted visage, and by a passing observation the spark of awareness suddenly jumped to life within the hunchback’s tamed gaze: …Golde.

For a moment he sat in still silence, pondering the relevance of this new information, before lingering over towards his left – towards that wayward beacon of age and security. The outline stood proud despite its decrepit figure, cast as a cutout a midst the backdrop of a horizon inflamed - and though he still lacked a proper foundation of trust within the stranger’s invitation, the hunchback found himself nodding in agreement. The foaming waves gurgled behind them in anticipation.

…But a new question yet languished on the edge of his weary mind: [/color]

“…The Dawhn lhies dihhm t’dhay, noh?”