He would know, Dorian thought, he is a Ranger, he thought, listening sharp-eared and serious to the man’s explanation. He frowned grimly and turned his eyes toward the window, thoughtful — but he very soon found his musings steering his concentration from the targets of a Ranger’s concerns, to the occupation of Ranger itself. He could not help but think of the man, Henry, Ranger Henry, who seemed so keen to entice Dorian into the ranks. The possibility tugged only half-heartedly on his ambitions, nay, quarter-heartedly if possible. He was the mask-maker’s apprentice and the primary occupational destiny for him was to be found beneath the roof of the shop. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t, to at least some degree, curious. Additionally, he’d rather enjoyed that introduction to bowmanship, challenging though it was or — perhaps because of it. His eyes flitted toward the Ranger’s staff. Somewhat less intimidating than a sword or a quiver on his back, and he was fairly sure he’d even seen a fellow with something club-like at his belt once, but with fair force behind it damage certainly could be dealt. It would be interesting, he thought, to see it used. He’d seen many flying fists in his lifetime. He’d even seen a juvenile, overly-aggressive bully brandish a sword. Surely there would be things to learn in the swing of a staff.
Noticing he’d drifted off a little, Dorian’s attentions prickled back into the present. Once more he looked to the wolf - gods, a handsome creature if he ever saw one. Sharp, admittedly frightening teeth, gleaming eyes, lean and strong. He’d love to watch it run, or hunt, or even just eat or sit and wag its tail…ah. And again. It seemed that the young man’s mind was quite incapable of remaining stationary, even if only for a moment. He rather preferred it that way, of course. But bringing both those factors in consideration, it was not at all difficult to deduce exactly why he harboured so little interest, nor bothered expending effort, in socialising.
Alright, alright. "Yes," Dorian agreed absently, before hesitantly making to trot down the stairs - glancing alternately back and forth between the wolf and the fall of his steps. “Sir,” he piped up, low but audibly, trailing his hand down the wall as he walked. "I assume you speak with him! the wolf — can I ask? What’s that like? I…" He trailed off, and dropped down the next stair. He changed his mind. “Do you like being a Ranger?” Dorian paused, fingers flitting to his throat; his voice had cracked a little before settling back to its normal, still oddly deep pitch. To an outsider, the jump in subject would seem a little odd, especially when made before adequate time for answer was given, but in his mind the two topics flowed seamlessly on from each other."Are you — well acquainted with Ranger Henry?"
