What sharp teeth you have!

River's already wading. (Carefully. This may be because the water is cold, which it is, or because of her injured leg, or just because she's River.)

So. Take that as you will, Simon!

Her boots can hardly take any more damage from a wetting than they've already gotten. The knee-deep water is already swirling darker downsteam with the grime coming off her boots and calves.

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"Traveling to the nearest bridge would take us several hours." Galadan's response is dry. It seems to be his natural tone.

"Wading is infinitely easier. And though blood will serve as the forest's libation, provided you do not cut yourself on stones in the stream bed, you'll take no harm at all."

And then he, too, wades through the stream, ripples spreading and multiplying in his wake.

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Beat.

"Thank you. That's very helpful."

Simon wades after him.

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River, meanwhile, has settled on the opposite bank.

(Oh, hey. Sitting down.)

Her left leg is stretched out in the water, so she can wash it off better. This has the side benefit of rinsing her hands, too. (And here, Pendaran, have a bit of blood. It won't particularly mollify it, but River doesn't mind courtesy! Especially when it accomplishes a more pressing practical purpose anyway.)

Having a few parts rinsed sorta-kinda-cleanish is making the rest of her look even grimier by comparison, but it's not as if she really cares.

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Galadan drops to a crouch on the bank, the toes of his boots submerged in the stream, and vigorously washes his face.

Once that is accomplished he lets the water flow past him before dipping his now-clean hands in and pulling up some water to drink.

After that he dips his hand into a belt-pouch, removing what may be a familiar (if faintly stained, despite being washed) lacy handkerchief, which he hands over to River.

In case she wants to clean up a little more vigorously than bare hands will allow.

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Simon's own hands and wrists are only slightly smeared, but his lower arms are gory to the elbow. He's taking advantage of the moment's rest to scrub at them with his own handkerchief, dampened in the stream.

Suddenly, overwhelmingly, he's exhausted.

Galadan passing River the handkerchief catches his eye, though, and he moves a little closer to her before settling down to sit on the bank.

Quiet: "Let me see to those?"

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River accepts the handkerchief solemnly. Her heart's not entirely in the joke, though.

It's been a long day. And now that she's sitting, now that she's stopped moving, she can be exhausted, and she can remember Milliways.

Milliways, dying, despite everything they tried to do. Too little, too late, and maybe nothing would have been enough; it doesn't matter now.

She doesn't say that. She nods, a little, and twists around to give Simon better access to her leg.

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The forest is full of creatures who give Galadan of the andain a wide berth.

. . . except for one elkor, who, against all the laws of rational herbivore behavior, appears to be making right for the Wolflord and his company.

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Galadan looks up at said elkor, grey eyes sharp and winter-bright.

Honestly, now.

Kevin. How like you to continue your trend of absolutely appalling timing.

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I thought you would be pleased, retorts Kevin, that I'm paying enough attention to know when the boundaries between worlds are crossed by strangers.

In other words: is he here mostly because he's bored and annoying Galadan is more interesting than anythi else going on? MAYBE.

You're beginning to make a habit of this, Wolflord. Is this world so poor in company for you?

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Simon is watching the approaching animal with some unease. It's an herbivore, or at least looks like one with those antlers, but ... do antlered herbivores even get that big?

(Although both horses and cows look a great deal bigger close up, he remembers.)

Low-voiced, to Galadan: "Should it be doing that?"

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"He's a brat," River responds for Galadan, without looking up. (And without lowering her voice.)

There's second-hand world-weariness in her tone, along with the actual weariness.

"Call it habituation."

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In point of fact, yes.

Galadan's mental voice is entirely matter of fact, only twisting into sharpness near the end, though he does (at least for the moment) make no attempt to shred through Kevin's mind.

But Kevin should really know better by now. Alas.

Meanwhile, in more human-comprehensible speech --

"It is in the habit of doing many things it should not. More fool he. Brat is entirely too mild a term."

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Irritated, and not willing to show it, Kevin sheds his elkor form and leans back against a tree, grinning at all of them.

"And yet, cousin, of the two of us, which is the one brought mortals to Pendaran? There might be a difference of opinion about who's doing things he should not, strictly speaking."

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Simon starts visibly at the transformation.

That's all the reaction he gives, though.

(After the other things he's seen tonight, a deer turning into a man just isn't all that intimidating.)

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River twists around (a little more stiffly than usual; her shoulder is starting to hurt) to stare at Kevin.

It's a look Simon probably knows well, though he probably can't see it from this angle: the one that says, I'm sorry, did you leave your brain at home today??, albeit a stronger version than usual.

"His is weighted," she informs Kevin.

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"Of all the opinions that matter, yours is near the least of them. Cousin."

Galadan's teeth flash white as he smiles.

Are you foolish enough to challenge me, little deer? I had thought our lessons long done, but I shall gladly resume them, just this once. If you are quite sure you insist.

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"Why would you think I was speaking of my opinion?" Kevin asks, widening his eyes. "I've nothing at all against mortals, and were this place mine, I would gladly bid your friends welcome."

You see challenges where there are none. Your daring here proves I'm no match for you. I admire it, is all. And the daring of your mortals, if they're aware of the risk they take.

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There is a feeling that accompanied being thrust face-first into a wall at superhuman speeds.

That same feeling buffets Kevin's mind now, a vast, soundless pressure that slams into him with great force and little pity.

And yet it does not tear.

Enough, Kevin. You overstep yourself.

But his voice, when he speaks, is conversational enough. "Bid them welcome, then, and be gone."

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River does not say: saw that one coming.

Because she's not Jayne.

Her face might kind of say it, though.

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Anyone watching might see Kevin suck in a breath, like someone whose stomach was just hit by a soccer ball.

"Haven't I just said," he gasps out, "that this place is not mine to welcome them to? That would be overstepping."

He straightens, and then bows, politely enough. "But I will hope you enjoy your time in Pendaran, friends. I hope your guide tells you something of its history, that you may appreciate it properly."

The grin reappears, for a flash of a moment. "I would not, however -- what is the phrase, take pictures?"

And then the young man is gone, and the elkor leaping off, graceful and careless, once again. Even Kevin is not foolish enough to stay when the Wolflord has said to go.

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"Well."

That was ... strange.

"I hope this won't mean any trouble for you later on?" It's directed at Galadan.

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"Hardly."

Galadan has returned to his usual dry mode of address.

Funny how that works.

"You need not worry on my account."

Kevin's account may be an entirely different story.

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"He's not in the political contestants."

River may be kind of leaning against Simon's shoulder.

A little.

"Call it abstention to throw spitballs."

River totally approves of brattiness, of course, but she thinks Kevin needs to work on more adroitly judging his audience. It's a hobby that involves delicate calibration!

Luckily(?), Galadan is good at reminders about those.

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