'No, not from here. Not from...' Lugh patiently waited for the woman to complete her sentence—yet, she never did. 'I come from plains.' The hesitence; it was ever familiar. Lugh's head tilted. You're like me and my Ma, he noted, an observation spoken mainly to himself. We're not from here, either. We just... he swallowed. ...woke up here.

The stiff tail, waving like a banner, lowered down his hocks with ease that was not present before. A sense of vulnerability that he matched as she showed her own anguish. 'I walk alone now. But I look. To learn. To remember who I was before.' Lugh's gaze lowered. To forget oneself—it was a fate far worse than what he faced. Have not only your home, familiarity, ousted from your hold, but to forgotten what should be familiar. 'The sea took something from me. The man did too. But I am not done walking.' Empathy blossomed over his face.

Lugh shuffled on his paws. He wanted to say something... yet, he didn't know what. And so, the words tumbled out of his lips before he could stop them. Ye don't have t'be alone, he paused. What was he trying to say? I-I mean... He turned, looking toward the meadow's horizon. I don't think Fabs would mind... if you stayed. At least for just a little bit. His tail swept to and fro at his feet. Apprehensive, hopeful, only slightly bashful.

The meadows we've claimed—they're not as big as some o' the plains I've seen, he continued, but they're not nothin'. I can show you around, if ye want. Shyly, the boy grinned.