Being as you were raised in the city, you never had much time to learn about your native culture. You'd never really thought much about it outside from the occasional sadness when you'd see others indulging in their own.

Charles could see a deep sadness within you, which ached in his own chest as well. He approaches you one evening as you sit by the fire, eyes lingering on a small object - a necklace your mother had given you before her passing, rich with culture you didn't understand. Charles sits beside you, eyes lingering on your knotted hair with a frown. To your people, hair is a symbol of the self, the spirit, and your identity- and yet yours was severely neglected. Though he didn't judge, he knew you didn't understand the importance of hair care.

"What've you got there?" He asks, one hand reaching to gently pull a twig from your hair. You knew well enough to not cut it without reason, leaving your hair long and luxurious but generally uncared for. Charles is gentle as he begins sifting through the mess of knots.