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Across the way, the crowd parts and she will see a particularly colorful cart, one that looks as if it has been draped in bits of rainbows from the roof of the cart to the sides to the many, many stacks and bundles within it. Through the soft murmur of the crowd she will hear a clink of coins and a man's voice, and a glance across the way may afford her a peculiar sight -- a man, someone's private guardsman by the look of his clothing, leaning over a fawn rather like her own. The fawn is much larger than hers, being a good bit older; the first nubbins of his antlers have begun to grow, and already he looks as if he will grow to be much bulkier, much heavier, than Lethe will ever dream of being. This is a good thing, since the man leaning over him is also very tall and broad shouldered, and overall looks to be a frightening sort, heavily muscled and marked all over with terrifying scars.

Yet before she can think to be afraid of him, she will likely notice something else: as intimidating as he looks, he has in his arms a great big bundle of assorted flowers, which he has just paid a very amused merchant for. His scarred face is warm with affection as he looks down at his Guardian, who is practically dancing in place with impatience and excitement. As the soldier thanks the flower-seller, the Guardian leans up on his back legs, stretching out to snatch a flower from the bundle before falling back down and eating it with his eyes half-closed in pleasure.

"Oi, lad, hold a wee bit there -- ye cannae jest stand in middle of yon market and eat! Come away now, there's a good lad." His voice is big and deep and rolling, and as he coaxes his delighted Guardian away from the flower-seller's stall, he will glance up and notice her .. and his face lights up as if he has recognized in her an old friend. " .. why, if it isn't a wee likkle lass from me ain home!"

He has turned already and stepped towards her, but at this show of hostility he pauses, and making certain to step out of the main thoroughfare he drops himself down into a crouch. By halving his height in this fashion he hopes to seem less imposing, for the last thing that he wishes is to give the poor gel a fright. " 'tis nae that oi knows ye, for oi can truly say oi dinnae; 'tis that oi know where you're from, lass, for ye've a familiar look tae ye. And the sweet hills of Airelund be far and far away again, and the beauty of ye puts me in mind of my home." He speaks as gently as he can, aware that his rough appearance is a mark against him -- but like many a man far from home, he has found that the farther he goes from Aireland, the more he misses it. In her he sees the people and the places he misses, and he sorely longs to hear how she's come here, how she's found it, and being that she looks to be a young thing, whether she remembers it at all.

Cadence does a little dance of frustration at this delay in his meal, but soon forgets himself; Lethe's little display of aggression is regarded by Cadence as flabbergasting and rather fascinating. He had turned about and only just then noticed her, and my! How silly she looks, he thinks, and steps delicately around his chosen to sniff at Lethe as if he cannot understand what she is making a fuss about. He's a Guardian! She's a Guardian! What is there to be wary of? They should play! If he can get close enough, he may very well lick the top of her head, as if to reassure her that all is well.

"Aye!" Macaire seems surprised that she should ask, as if it is perfectly plain, something that cannot or should not be denied. But he smiles again, to soften any hurt she might take from his quick response, and taps his chest with an air of authority. "Oi'm ainly a year gone from me home there, sae ye can trust me words and me eyes. Me name's Macaire, Macaire Draughn: born in a wee likkle town called Skibbereen. What is it a bonny lass like ye be called?"

Cadence regards the other Guardian with an expression of shock, his long ears flattened against his skull: he stays out of reach for a long moment. As Macaire speaks to Faye, however, he lowers his head and leans towards her again, as if hoping she might at any second change her mind and make friends.

"Ah, and see, ye doubted it! 'Tis a roight Aireish naming, that. An auld family, ye O’Donnchadha -- they be like me family, auld warriors." He savors the old surname, rolling it around in his mouth like a sweet: if she's met in her life the sort that are called to the teaching professions, she will hear something in his voice of that passion for learning. He could, given the slightest hint that it would be welcome, go on for hours. Fortunately, he seems aware that this may not be the correct audience for scholarly discourse, cutting himself off before he can make her weary of his friendship already. Instead, he ruffles a hand through his tousled hair, leaving it even more a mess than before.

"Be mair full of honor then me name, oi'll tell ye that! Me family be a fair set smaller. Ye donnae have the knowing of which branch ye be off'n, do ye?" He sounds as if he does not expect her to -- she doesn't even know she looks Aireish! -- and as if it is no big deal if she does not. In truth he is sad for her if this proves to be the case, but what is there that can be done if that's true? Either her parents are no longer about, or they're ashamed of what they are.

He'll swear to her -- years from now, when she's old enough to understand the feeling -- that anyone listening closely at this particularly moment would have been able to hear his heart give a great big crack! Her big eyes wobbling up at him are more than enough to fair break his heart, but her piteous request .. oh! Small gods have pity on him!

She'll see his eyes go wide with a moment's shock, though his expression softens immediately after; he breathes out a long slow sigh and nods before he can find the words to speak. " .. aye, lass. Of course oi'll help ye. B'ain't ye a countrywoman of mine? Yer me kin, in a way, and 'tis honor-bound that oi do whatever io can fer ye."

He winces for what his heart and his mouth have gotten him into, to hear her set her hopes and ambitions upon his shoulders -- Small Gods know there's enough on there already -- but rather than sigh or shake his head, he can only smile faintly at her. "Oi cannae promise oi'll find them for ye, but oi can promise oi'll try me best fer ye." He keeps his voice gentle but hopeful, for it all depends on how she came to be here, and what she might remember. And if, as she grows and learns, she can forgive him for not being able to provide her with everything she so ardently desires.

"It willnae be quick, though. Takes time, and careful asking of questions, aaaall about. Ye ke -- do ye unnerstand?" He is a touch anxious on this point, not wishing her to assume or expect a pair of loving parents to be produced on the morrow, or a week gone.

He winces but she may be young enough not to interpret the expression clearly, for even he isn't sure what gives his heart the greater ache. Is she answering so tamely because her life has been rough enough that she does understand, or is he only raising her hopes beyond his capability of fulfilling them? Either way, he does have some of the knowledge she so ardently craves, and he does not intent to keep it from her for thought of her being too young to receive it.

"Oh, aye! They were nae my clan, so there is a muckle bit oi donnae know, but there's mair than a wee bit known tae them as were raised in Airelund. Here, lass, let's be off from the street for the telling, right?" He stands for the first time, and offers her his hand, well aware that even with all he's offered her there are some that would still not trust him enough for even that. But if she's the courage, he means only to lead her to a stall that sells bubbly little fruit pies -- where he will buy her one for each hand, and a little cup of juice, and then take her to sit on a bench outside a cookshop. There he can eat a fruit pie of his own, ingloriously licking his fingers, while Cadence eats flowers out of his lap and occasionally offers them to Lethe.