Scarburg Meadhall

[shaggydog]

Oeric Late morning

“So what do they call you?” Oeric asked, still grinning at some unnamable feeling nestled in his chest.

“Dagan-Turi_Dan, but Dan is probably easier.” The swarthy, stocky man replied. “And thanks, I owe you my life.”

Oeric tilted his head to look up to the skies and thought about the saving of a life, when it might happen and when it could not happen. After a long moment, he said, “I’m glad that I was able to do that for you, Dan.”

The other, whether through natural reticence, or more probably due to his ordeal, said no more, merely looking away towards the boggy spot that had almost been his tomb. Oeric wondered at this strange looking man, but was reluctant to ask him about his origins. That he was alive and well at this particular moment seemed enough.

Considering the possible outcomes of his question, Oeric asked hesitantly, “Would you be willing to do something in return?”

Dan looked at him, his expression unreadable. Oeric looked back, their eyes meeting. “I would like to keep my presence here unknown, at least until . . . until I decide the time is right. I don’t know if you have come here with these settlers, but if so, I would ask that you say nothing of me.”