The man sipped his water slowly.
Wise, Quil thought. Used to the hardships of a salt-water life.
"You will need to eat a little, too" Quil said.
"Yes," the man rasped.
"Do you know your name?" Quil asked, passing a small piece of dried fish from his ragged pack.
The man ate the fish first, then took another draft of water.
"Elsen," he said. "Elsen of Lacfell."
He paused a moment, taking another drink from the skin, and passing it back to Quil.
"Thank you for pulling me from the water," he said.
Quil said, "It is nothing. I was here, you washed in with the tide. It was only a moment's work to drag you to my poor fire."
"Then just for the water and fish," Elsen answered.
Quil smiled.
Elsen watched the old man feed the fire with driftwood. The dry fuel brough the campfire to blazing life, and Quil chuckled a little.
The flames threw shadows about the craggy face and made his beard seem longer and darker. The soft cavern of Quil's toothless mouth, made to seem bigger in the dancing light, worked constantly in a soundless, one-sided conversation.
The water and food had done its work and Elsen was standing now, thinking of climbing the grassy berm to see the land beyond. He just didn't feel quite ready yet.
He wore only the breeches and linen shirt he'd washed up in, his boots, hat and longcoat a memory of the sea. Much like his sword, he lamented. He was in a strange land of which he knew little, and who knew if Quil intended to sell him to some bandit or slaver.
Of course, he saw little threat from Quil himself. It was just his own ignorance of the local custom. After all, if someone had washed up outside of Lacfell in his condition, they'd likely have been murdered long since. Especially if it was the hobgoblins who found them.
Quil had settled onto a log and was looking contentedly out to sea. It might have been as if Elsen wasn't even there.
He turned to the berm and began making his barefoot way through the sand.
"Oh don't do that," Quil said, without even changing his expression.
Elsen paused.
"Why not?" he asked.
"The stones in the grass will cut your feet," the old man answered. "I'll make you a pair of sandals in the morning. In the mean time, it will be supper soon."
"Oh? What's for supper, then?" Elsen asked.
Quil lifted and shook his shabby pack.
"Ah," nodded Elsen.
