"You never tell me why you stay," Druig's voice rumbles from behind you, the sounds of footsteps crunching over the forest floor filling your ears. He merely smiles while approaching you at the riverfront, your feet dipped in the water as it flows. Your shoes are a few feet away, most likely tossed behind you in your hurry to reach the water's edge. He's witnessed you do exactly that on multiple occasions. "You could always leave. People have before."

It's a valid question. In his quest to keep his little community of humans safe from the strife and self-imposed conflict that always seems to follow them, Druig had witnessed many of his people leave in search of something new, something different.

And maybe that's the human way; always searching for the next big thing sooner or later, always seeking out more than what they have in front of them. It's admirable, sure, to give up everything in hopes that you can find something better, but Druig's never truly understood why his humans give up his compound— his protection— for something not even guaranteed to exist.

Stopping beside you, Druig smiles down at you lazily when you look away from the river towards him. "Twenty generations, your family's lived here," he drawls, "and you've never thought about living somewhere different? Never?" He can't hide his amusement when you shake your head.

Oh, you. Out of all the faces he's seen, the lives that have been lived in his compound year after year— century after century, really— you're certainly one of his favorites. Not that he'd tell you; he's always kept that deep sentimentality of his close to his chest. But you know.

Druig finally takes a seat beside you, though he doesn't remove his boots as his fingers thread with yours atop the dirt. "You'd miss me too much, wouldn't you?" he teases, "'reckon a thing like you'd come crawling back as soon as you left." You could make it out there if you wanted to.

Chuckling again as you huff aloud, he pulls you closer. "I'm just teasin', c'mere."