Going home (even if he wasn't sure if it could honestly be called home, the Brecilian Forest certainly didn't compare to that of his former clan) didn't seem nearly as surreal as he thought it would.
For the past few hours as the group traveled away from Denerim and towards the outskirts of the forest, he had been contemplating (and contemplating hard) what his reaction would be when a foot should physically be placed on the official grounds of his homeland. Having been thrust into a situation that called him away from the only place he had ever known was seemingly impossible to wrap his head around (Creator, he still had a lot of trouble accepting several of the facts that he now knew remained true) and the thought that he would be returning to it so soon after was something he was sure he'd find comforting and perhaps even a little liberating, something that he would be completely and utterly happy about.
And yet, as the tall trees began to tower over them and the constant steady rush of a nearby stream sounded, all Faer Arandil could feel was indifference.
To be honest, the fact that he was almost entirely apathetic was disturbing to him, even a little frightening. Anyone who had been so attached to their home and was town away would be delightfully glad that they are returning, so why wasn't he overly joyed that he might be able to run into his clan again? Or, if not, that he'd be able to meet another and get that familiar sense of recognition of something that was so close to him? Of course, he had desperately missed almost entirely everything about the Brecilian Forest, but it did become apparent that he was beginning to understand the world a little better after experiencing all the things he did within the few months after he was cast out. And perhaps, in all honest and truth to himself, he might have felt a little resentment -- after all, having someone you looked up to, someone you cared for as your own mother saying that you were no longer welcome hurt fare more than he was willing to let on.
Nevertheless, it was no excuse for being unattached. Could it be that he really had come to terms with the life he led now that he felt no obligation anymore?
But before he could answer the question in all truth of the matter, there was something that itched at the back of his mind as he took up the front of the group (he was, after all, a Dalish Elf and it would be an understatement to say that he knew the forest.) It started off as a slight off-feeling that he couldn't quite place, like knowing that something was wrong, and then it evolved in a physical buzz of ringing in his ear, one that he couldn't get rid of as he trudged more and more into the forest. Currently, the group was heading towards the direction of his former clan and, in all honesty, he was almost sure that they had already packed up and left, but held onto a single string of hope that they might not have gotten the time just yet. Despite that, however, it was a better lead than randomly picking a direction and starting from there.
He considered pulling aside Lalin Adain or Ser Ordhan Wyland to confide in this discomfort of the buzzing noise -- The Dalish mage was not at all pleased about this sort of...humming -- but was too self-conscious in not wanting to complain in distraught over something that might not even be anything to be so worried over. As it got louder and louder with each step, the frown on his face got deeper and after finally deciding that he couldn't take it anymore, Faer turned to Conlan Delaine (who was walking beside him) to mention something about it when the Denerim-born man stopped abruptly, making Faer raise an eyebrow in confusion.