Hawke was concerned. Fenris could tell by the way she let her eyes wander about the coastline, glancing at him only when she thought he wasn't looking. Anders too looked uncomfortable, and Fenris understood perfectly why. Needless to say, it wasn't because he was concerned.

"You look like you're in pain," Hawke tried finally after a few minutes of silent walking. "If you'd just let Anders-"

"No," Fenris cut in firmly. Bandits had caught them by surprise on their way back from hunting down a slaver outpost off the Wounded Coast, an archer landing a shot in the elf's shoulder before he'd even heard the snap of a bowstring. It wasn't the worst wound he'd ever received by any means, and hardly life threatening, but the area it was located caused a fair amount of discomfort every time he moved. Still, he refused that abomination's sorcery going anywhere near him. Bethany was the only mage he even faintly trusted, and she had been in the Circle now for over a year.

"Then at least come back to the house and let me patch you up," Hawke offered kindly. Anders looked at her a little reproachfully, as if he had some kind of say in the matter, making Fenris more irritated than he wanted to be about such a thing.

"The bleeding has already slowed; it's fine," Fenris assured her, the tone of his voice clearly indicating she needed to drop the conversation. Anders glared at him, opening his mouth to chastise him for speaking to Hawke that way, but she shook her head at him and he let it die. Fenris had almost been hoping he would ignore her; any excuse to give that mage what he had deserved since the day they met.

By the time Fenris made it back to the mansion, his bad mood had only grown. After washing the blood off his skin and hair, he dressed the wound the best he could on his own. Minutes of struggling with the bandages had him regretting his refusal of Hawke's offer, but the thought of her getting so close to him was... disconcerting. He was used to treating his own injuries anyway.

Once all the traces of their excursion were dealt with, Fenris found himself unwilling to sit alone in the overly large house, where ghosts of the past could find him. Instead of drinking his sour mood away, he opted to leave the mansion and wander the streets of Kirkwall, ambling through High Town straight into Low Town, past the Hanged Man and the stands set up along the walls. The chatter of the Marchers that usually had him gritting his teeth hardly registered, and before he even realized, he had wandered right into the alienage.

Fenris considered turning around then and making his way back home, but he didn't. Instead, he moved towards the Sacred Tree, looking for a shock of blonde hair and a small frame. He wasn't there, though Fenris hadn't really expected differently. Without much more effort, he turned back towards the exit into Low Town, but was stopped midstep by a voice coming from a small house to his left.

"Fenris?" Myrin's head poked out the doorway of what Fenris assumed was his home. Once the boy was sure what he saw was true, he scurried out and shut the door behind him, looking in all directions before finally rushing over to the older elf. "I didn't really think you'd come back," Myrin admitted, staring at Fenris curiously.

"This time, my word was good," Fenris replied, choosing to omit the fact that this was actually an unplanned trip. Myrin nodded and motioned for Fenris to follow him over to the same spot by the tree they sat during their last meeting. This time, however, Myrin sat facing Fenris instead of the tree, crossing his legs and looking at Fenris expectantly. Fenris felt the gaze of several elven residents on them, but he supposed that was only to be expected.

"I was thinking about what you said before. I like your eyes," Myrin suddenly announced, all without so much as a change in tone. He didn't sound like a Tranquil, exactly, but he wasn't far off. Fenris raised an eyebrow at him. "They see good things," Myrin offered as way of an explanation.

Fenris laughed then, but it was a bitter sound even to his own ears. "Not always," he corrected, his foul mood hardly improved. What had he hoped to accomplish by coming here?

"That's the point," Myrin continued, undeterred. "There are bad things right in front of them, but they still see good things. See?" Fenris shook his head, trying but failing to fully understand what the boy was trying to convey. Myrin sighed, the first hint of emotion Fenris has ever heard from him. "No one ever does."

Fenris could easily see how that was the case. Myrin had an interesting manor of speech, both childlike and yet conceptually beyond his years. Fenris wondered what he had been like before the blood mages had found him.

"Perhaps you could teach me to see," Fenris suggested. He realized just after he spoke the implication in those words, a near-promise of future visits. He supposed a few more were harmless, though he doubted he was helping the boy in any capacity. Fenris wasn't even sure what to help him with. Besides the odd speech, Myrin seemed more competent than most adults, let alone someone as young as him.

"Maybe," Myrin replied, letting the thought sit with him a moment. Then, for the first time that Fenris had seen, he smiled. His bright eyes squinted when he grinned, as if he was putting as much effort as he could into that smile, and Fenris couldn't help but smile at that too, though just barely. As quickly as Myrin's smile came however, it was gone, a mere flash on his face.

"You're hurt," Myrin remarked, reaching out and pointing at Fenris' shoulder. Fenris had no idea how the boy could have known, hidden as the injury was, but he nodded, guessing he had subconsciously favored his other side in some way.

"It isn't severe," Fenris assured the boy, but he didn't look convinced. Fenris wondered how Myrin could be so expressive on his face and yet speak as if he hadn't an emotion in his body. "Truly. It's already beginning to heal."

"Did you go to a healer?" Myrin asked, something unrecognizable in his eyes now. Whatever it was, it troubled Fenris, feeling as if the unknown expression didn't belong on his face.

"No," Fenris replied, "I'd rather mend on my own than with the aid of magic."

The boy looked at him sharply and questioned, "Why is that?" Fenris frowned, wondering if getting that close to the topic of magic was going to upset the lad. He certainly looked as if he were on the verge of something.

But Fenris saw no reason to cease the conversation, so he answered honestly, "Mages can't be trusted. Even healers, who say they work for the good of others, will in the end only do what suits their needs." He hadn't meant to put such contempt in his tone for fear of startling the child, but it was unavoidable. He looked at Myrin, gauging his reaction. Luckily, Myrin merely looked thoughtful, processing before speaking. Fenris was starting to notice he did that fairly often, which he found an admirable trait.

Fenris waited a long while for Myrin to speak, but the boy never did. He was deep in thought though, so Fenris never disturbed him by questioning him further. He merely let the boy sit in silence, contemplative. It gave him a moment to survey their surroundings for a bit, which he hadn't paid much attention to before. The sun, he realized, was almost set, twilight settling nicely into the alienage. Merchants, the few there were, had begun closing up their stands, and most children were either already inside or heading on their way. A city was never quiet exactly, but this was the time just before the people of the night began crawling their way out of the woodwork, and a certain peace seemed to blanket even Low Town. Though he'd never really stopped to consider it before, Fenris was for the first time conscious that this was his favorite time of day in Kirkwall.

Again Fenris looked to Myrin, who seemed no more ready to speak than he had been before. Neither did he seem aware of the time, or the dark night that was quickly approaching. Fenris frowned slightly, weighing the need to get home versus giving the boy time to think about whatever it was he needed to think about. Finally, he decided he'd have to break the quiet.

"It's getting late," he remarked, his voice sounding odd to his ears after the silence. "You should return home before the streets turn dangerous."

Myrin looked at him, startled, clearly having forgotten Fenris was there entirely. It was almost funny. "Everything's dangerous," Myrin replied, but not argumentatively, and he wasted no time in uncrossing his legs and standing.

"Some things more so than others," Fenris corrected, giving him a pointed look. He didn't want the boy to get the idea that after going through one bad experience, he could handle all of them. Bandits would rip a small elf like Myrin apart before he made it out of the alienage.

"What about you?" Myrin asked, tilting his head as they walked towards Myrin's home. Fenris couldn't help but smile at that.

"Especially me," he responded. Myrin nodded seriously, but he hardly looked intimidated. He never had been afraid of Fenris, he noticed, wholly unlike most people he met for the first time. Well, besides people like Hawke who ogres didn't faze.

When they reached Myrin's door, he hesitated before opening it. His blonde hair covered his eyes almost shyly as he asked, "So, you'll visit again?"

"If you want me to," Fenris promised, finding himself smiling for the third time that evening. His bad mood from earlier had been all but forgotten. Myrin merely nodded and shuffled into his house, shutting the door before Fenris even glimpsed the inside.