Hershel sighs when he’s told that he’s the one that took a wrong turn. As always. It always does seem to be him - his timeline is in shambles from that same thing, really. Monte D’or, Misthallery, London - none of it is his. The last time he was in his own damn timeline he was a teenager.
“To be expected. Almost can’t recall the last time I went precisely where I was intending to without needing to stop or turn around at some point. It’s not even that I’m bad with directions, the whole bloody world conspires to-” He freezes, watching the other silently. Hershel is being stared at all of a sudden with an intensity he doesn’t quite grasp the reason of.
Yes, he does look strange. Even to worlds with myth-creatures, he’s not quite natural enough to get away without some stares. He’d register as human but not to those that can sense that kind of thing, and half wonders if this man can sense that. If he’s getting hung up on some smell or sight or realization that’s made him stop in his tracks.
But he doesn’t like it. Hershel rarely likes it.
“It’s… fine.” It really isn’t, but he’s more than used to it by now. No point dragging it out. “Questions? About where I’m going?” He’s half smirking. Something to the effect of trying to diffuse a strange situation and genuinely being curious. “Surely questions aren’t needed so much as a point in the right direction? Or, well…telling me that no such place exists. But fine - I’ll bite. What sort of questions?”
There’s never any pity to her voice when she whispers things like that. Ave pays her no mind, as he usually does when she’s not saying something either useful or abrasive, nor does he seem too bothered by the way Hershel grows rigid, like a startled deer. The people who have managed to get sufficiently close to him to notice Charlak’s comings and goings have reported to him the intensity of her stare, and at first he’d been apologetic, but he’s learned there’s no point trying to explain it away.
“Might I recommend a trail of breadcrumbs?” Despite the dryad’s mental presence blooming within him - caught somewhere between being accusatory and deeply curious - he remains outwardly friendly and eager to help, folding his arms loosely and non-combatively across his stomach with a relaxed smile. He’s taller than Hershel, and broad-shouldered, and looks to have the potential to be a dangerous adversary, but he seems mostly harmless right now.
“I don’t care much about where you’re going, no. I’m not law enforcement, and there’s no curfew here.” He’s forced to pay more attention to the connection, now, in order to get a better idea of the questions that she wants him to ask. There’s another feeling of being watched, only now it’s less like Ave’s own gaze is that of something much bigger and more powerful than himself, and more like there’s someone beside Hershel, boring a stare into the side of his head.
“I’m more concerned with your, uh...state. What are you?”
