"A hawk?" Rhocanth echoed in a vague tone. "Which are those? I think it could not possibly be as beautiful as the owl. I wish to be closer to the owl, to see it better. I wonder if this is possible. You do not suppose it would descend for a bit of food, if I were to procure spare?" Wide eyes blinked up at Imenry hopefully. Something in the back of his mind told him that this creature was not to be fooled in such a way, but it was worth asking anyhow, perhaps.
Talk of elves and the chantry were worthy topics to rove upon mentally all night. Though he was torn between disgust at the story and glee over the owl, he managed to twist his mouth into a pursed shape and answer, his eyes moving to briefly watch the sky where the owl had disappeared. "There is something about this story that speaks to me. Something poetic about it. I would like to know more, and meet these elves. Perhaps I would like to write about them." He turned his eyes back up to Imenry suddenly, once more taken by curiosity. "Is it true what I have heard said by merchants? That elves are very beautiful? I did not notice anything unusual about the one traveling with us, but perhaps he is not entirely representative?"
It was then that one of the tents began to stir, a flap pushed open and the next round of guards stepping into the early morning dimness. Rhocanth sighed a true gust of disappointment, resting his hand on his hilt. "The night is over so quickly. Has it really been so long?"