Like a self aware wooden hammer, he once heard in a folk tale. Bastian couldn’t nail down anything down. Knowing he wasn’t intimidating to the stranger and any further attempts to penetrate through the stranger’s wall, would only lead to splinters of information. One already stuck into his heart, that he couldn’t pull out, or ignore.
Bastian lightly shook his head at the stranger. Rubbing his forehead and letting out a sigh. Forgoing his posturing and walking away from the wagon. Collecting his dirty clothes and leather straps that lied behind the bush. Brushing off specks of dirt and grass from the straps and putting them on underneath his robes, sheathing his sword. Returning to the wagon, with the slightest frown and arms crossed.
“I have no interests in your secrets. But since you sought my assistance. I expect you to respect me and my belongings, if you expect to step foot in my wagon.” Bastian stated. He paused, starting to rub his nose. “That includes her and disrespecting her is like mocking a warrior’s steed or steel. Any further disparaging remarks will be met with me making you do cartwheels. Am I clear?”
Avoiding eye contact, he climbed aboard the wagon. Sitting down and taking hold of the reins, waiting for the stranger to head inside. His heart thumping, rubbing the ache sunken deep into chest, biting his lip. “How old is your son?” He asked in a more empathic tone. “Assuming there's truth that someone in this city had abducted his son. I could get some credible information out of this question...if only I could lie to myself that, that was my intention.” He thought.