The man admitted that he was fine. He had been enjoying the view and playing with the birds. This made Rook raise a whiskered brow. Playing with the birds? Cautiously, after edging his left paw forward first, he drew closer to the other fellow once they both had their feet beneath them, standing tall beneath the empress trees. An invitation to accompany the swarthy man was issued and the Lyall, whose turbulent thought processes constantly rivaled his inner equanimity, found that he felt he could trust him. Even after the fact that his twin sister had just told him about how they were going to go about their mission. If he was going to be doing the primary judgement for the both of them, seeking their company and aid, he should have been more wary. All thoughts aside though, Rook was drawn to him, momentarily bewitched and intrigued by how this particular chum saw Relic Lore.
Coming a bit closer to the stranger, Rook's movements spoke for him; each footstep confirming his decision that he would very much like to give the rogue some company. He stopped just short of his companion's personal space, the figurative bubble that engulfed him, and cupped his ears forward as he asked, "Isn't the life in these lands exciting?" The younger yearling's head tilted. Hadn't he just had this sort of conversation before? He was briefly blinded when he thought back to when he and Bishop had spent the evening by the Marsh, his own words echoing about in his head, "There's just so much. I feel like my eyes have been opened, Bishop. There's so much out there than there ever was at home. I feel like I've been asleep all this time." "Exciting" was quite possibly an understatement (at least, according to Rook).
"It is," he agreed. "I never thought I'd ever see anything as wondrous as this place." He smiled then, a shy, mousy sort of smile with his ears angled back in a rather bashful expression. Something about manners did not go unheard over the Lyall's ears and as Bérengère Dunn introduced himself, Rook returned the sentiment, his banner of a tail waving slowly from side to side. "Bear," he tested the man's nickname with an eager whisper, the sound building up at the back of his mouth before gliding over his curled tongue to round out the "r" at the end of the word. He certainly looked like a bear, burly with coarse black fur. Quite frankly, Rook found it both amusing and endearing; if he could have taken his assumptions to heart, it kind of made Bear seem characteristically humble and appealing, not unlike the cover of a book whose art and title hinted at what could be found inside.
"Rook Lyall," he introduced himself, not even skipping a beat. "Rook, like the bird." The birdsong, which had for a while fallen on selectively deaf ears while he had been listening to Beren, seemed to reply to his statement with a couple of chirps. It harmonized a few times in a few notes, but as soon as he looked to the night-pelted man, it became typical strings of random notes. "You said you were playing with the birds," he mused, his curious gaze eventually tilting upward into the treetops, "How so?"