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{He is drawn to the forest with the same intensity some crave drink or food. Underneath the trees, he is at peace and his senses are alert. Behind him, a short distance away Ehtyarion is grazing, his large white ears swiveling this way and that to catch the sounds of the forest.

Aragorn glances at the unicorn, smiling to himself before he goes back to fletching some arrows. His hands are deft and practiced as he works and he rises when one arrow is done. Picking up his bow - something he carved and fitted himself - he nocks the arrow and takes careful aim at a soft target. Said target is composed of moss and leaves that he has nailed to a tree.

The arrow flies true and hits the mark. Ehtyarion makes an indignant sound and Aragorn speaks softly as he retrieves the arrow:}

Av-'osto, Ehtyarion, av-'osto. {"Don't be afraid, Ehtyarion, don't be afraid." He chuckles as the unicorn tosses his mane imperiously.}

Goheno nin, hîr vuin. {"Forgive me, my lord." Stowing the arrow in his bushel, he places a hand over his heart and bows. With a quick, graceful trot, Ehtyarion closes the space between them and nudges his velvet soft muzzle against Aragorn's cheek. The man strokes his fingers through the unicorn's mane, eyes soft.}

As the chill grows, our companions become dearer to us. {His attention shifts to the Locket.} Surround yourself with laughter and warmth no matter the obstacles. Even if death should separate us, the bonds we forge will not dissipate.

{Gathering his bow and fletching materials, he stows them away on the unicorn's back. He has fashioned a special saddle for the proud creature - something light, durable and soft. Once everything is secured, he swings himself easily into the saddle, Locket in hand.}

There is much to see; much to enjoy. {Positioning the Locket just so - away from him and towards the trees - he urges Ehtyarion into a quick trot. The beauty of the forest is easy to see - emerald greens, browns, reds and even golds pass in front of the screen. Aragorn lets the view speak for itself before closing the Locket with a click.}

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I've another friend, only she's not all that honest. We ain't got anything in common. [... nothing save for Arya, really. But he presents Sansa as some challenge to Aragorn's apparent talent at friend-pattern-finding.]

Are you certain? There are subtler methods to speaking the truth.

There's nothing subtle about the truth. [He says this scornfully, though his understanding of the world subtle is not perhaps entirely clear.]

If I tell you I am a soldier, would you understand that I have seen battles? Or, in reverse, if I tell you I have seen battles, would you understand that I am a soldier?

Are those not subtle methods of delivering the truth?

[He nearly protests, but he thinks that there is much he's learned about her because of what's not been said or what has been spoken around. He would put more thought into this revelation if he wasn't exasperated by Aragorn's apparently relentless wisdom.]

Aye, well, I've one friend who ain't subtle at all, just a bloody fool. No one can understand what he's saying, truth or not. [... stupid Stiles.]

Then he dearly needs your aid to curb his tongue. {Though he wonders who curbs Gendry's tongue. Or Arya's for that matter. They must get into interesting trouble.}

Aye, I think so. He could use a good clouting. [Gendry was only so well behaved as he was because he'd been properly clouted as a boy. Gendry didn't think Stiles had ever been hit nearly enough.]

Violence begets violence. There are other tools to teach. {Like patience and understanding. Perhaps there is some illness plaguing this Stiles.}

It taught me well enough. [Though he learned in other ways. But he thought it only natural to use a little hard discipline here and there.]

I think it taught you aggression, young one.

Might be it did. Better that then learning to be some flighty bard or pampered ponce.

Not all Bards are flighty. Theirs is a trade that serves us well. {He smiles like he knows he is completely avoiding Gendry's point.} Those who are pampered can change upon seeing the world. Their fault lies in ignorance.

Or lying on a pillow. And how do bards help anyone? All they do is make for noisy headaches.

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