Demetir made a face. Him? Be lost? "I don't think it's that," he said. "It was hard to learn my way around a long time ago, but I'm good at it, now. I've even gotten work as a guide, before." Once, and it was a short, straightforward trip, but she didn't need to know that, did she? Imenry had taken a second helping of rabbit, so Demetir picked off another piece. After a second's pause to see if she objected (no point wearing out his welcome, after all), he popped it into his mouth. This one was a little cooler than the first, and he took the time to savor it as he chewed.
"Like a volcano, only the lava in the mountain doesn't erupt. If it did Orzammar would be just a bunch of ash." He nodded eagerly as he spoke, pleased that she recognized the word. It was often difficult to communicate with the Surface-dwellers about the things inside the mountain. It was a world most could not imagine, just as the Surface had once been for him.
Demetir rubbed the back of his head, knocking a dust of half-thawed frost from the hat pulled over his ears. "I suppose I could try to travel, but...it's so far. Getting supplies wouldn't be easy, and..." He shrugged. "Maybe later."
"I'm eighteen. That's old enough to be in the Provings in Orzammar," he insisted, a petulant edge to his voice. Demetir knew why she asked the question. If he had a beard, people wouldn't keep thinking he was just a kid. "I was really good in duels in training, and I've practiced since then so I won't get rusty," he added with another proud tilt of his chin. If it wasn't such an obstacle for being hired, this constant underestimation could have been an advantage in a battle.