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The boy looks to be his age, and he wrings his hands like he doesn’t know what to do with them. Valdyrim considers the troll boy, thinking to the purpose of this gathering and a distant conversation with Father stressing the importance of forging alliances. So it is with his chin held high that he approaches the young troll, straight-backed and proud.

“Good evening,” he says, and the boy looks at him with wide, brown eyes. He doesn’t stop wringing his hands, but his surprise at being approached melts away into a friendly smile.

“Hello,” he says, and even in just a single word his accent is apparent.

“I am Valdyrim, firstborn son of an esteemed noble house,” Valdyrim introduces himself with an incline of his head, years of etiquette lessons making it almost reflexive. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Hello,” the boy repeats. “I be too young for a name, but it be nice meeting you too.”

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