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Garmund scowled black as a thundercloud when Trystan entered. After Thornden left, he had fully meant to quietly follow from a bit off the path. Far enough away to avoid Thornden's watchful eye, but close enough to see any excitement - and to help in a fight if needed. With Trystan's unexpected arrival, that plan was thwarted, and Garmund again forced to remain behind like a child who needed watching rather than a great boy of nine.
"What did this man look like?"
The question briefly drew Garmund away from his irritation. At least he was asked to tell some of the tale instead of being forced out of it.
"A great, tall man, twice as high as me, with a great, dark, shaggy beard and rough, dirty clothes. He talked strangely. Like a man out of the tales, only real. Then Master Thornden came, the man ran away, and Master Falco and Thornden followed. Master Thornden wouldn't let me come, so here I am." Garmund looked at the ground, kicking it a bit harder than he had thought to do.
"I wish I knew what they were doing out there."
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