[color=#1A1A3B][b][u][h1][sub][sub][sub]Farren[/sub][/sub][/sub][/h1][/u][/b][/color]		    took in the sights, one by one, taking special note of the path they took and those that he could see from their shifting vantage point as they traveled. He’d never been good with words or numbers–be it reading them or writing them or accomplishing arithmetic…though he had fewer issues with that last task than the others. Needless to say, Farren had a way with his body and a way with [i]place[/i]. Finding North was as easy to him as breathing, and fixing locations and paths in his mind was similarly easy. One supposed that his mind compensated for its failings by excelling elsewhere.

Really he’d never given it much thought before–or at least he didn’t remember doing so, which wasn’t saying much–but now on introspection as they headed for the White Church Workshop of the present day, it struck him as relevant. Farren wondered if he had any other talents…or skills that he wasn’t entirely aware of.

When eventually they arrived at their initial destination, he did indeed stow away their prize and while he didn’t wear his tension so easily as Torquil, Farren did have a small reaction to the interjection of the cleric. Initially it seemed to be tension, but Farren shifted it into a display of annoyance, first frowning, then rolling his eyes as the man insisted upon imposing his will on them.

Beyond that, Farren kept himself on high alert, keeping in mind the positions of everyone in the immediate area to the best of his ability. He noticed when almost everyone’s attention shifted to a point behind him–during which point he heard only the shifting of cloth and hair, as well as Gerlinde’s voice as she stretched. Farren didn’t look, though some part of him wanted to.

He didn’t speak up though, just deferred to Ophelia’s superior ability to charm those she encountered. She really did have a remarkable way with people.