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White teeth shone even under an overcast sky and the further shade of a treated woolen hood. Harakan, having been given his weekly day off, had gone wandering through the woods again. Sure, he did this for a living, but it wasn't as though he saw his pay every week. Money felt like something that happened when you got back to the stone and smoke towns. Had he preferred that, the boy might have been leaned over a table, drawing different maths than his master had him work out. ...But more of them.

And his parents' stuffy workroom had nothing on the sky out here. The salt and ozone smell of a curdling storm at the edge of the sea. The churning greys of a horizon between them. Apart from a little recreational meandering, he'd brought his lunch. If there were a handy bit of shade, he'd thought to eat and watch the storm begin. If not, well, no matter. The oilskin bag would keep his food from the elements. Could always eat later.

That was all before he heard grunts, of the sort you got when making a physical effort. Harakan had, in fact, found a good dry spot and leaned against the tree trunk to settle down, when he heard it faintly on the wind. Odd direction, tho'. It was all open air past the cliff face. Green eyes blinked, blinked again, and he got up to see who might be making it.

When the young surveyor got there, he bent down at the knees, keeping his center of gravity back from the edge, and leaned just a bit over the edge. To the young Alk, only a brown face came into view above, shaded by the hood of a slick grey cloak. Perhaps she saw less, with the worsening rain. But that voice of his, there was no missing that. Maybe it wasn't thunder. Probably wasn't thunder. But the smaller teen's voice boomed down all the same. "Hello down there! Slow going?"

For all his bluster, Harakan usually had fairly good manners. He took the rebuff in stride, merely waving a hand and backing off. "Sorry." Knowing when he wasn't wanted came easily; Dage and Folmar beasts had a few signals in common with their humanoid neighbors. One of the few social skills spending most of his time in the wilds had sharpened, really. So he went back to his shade and dug out a bit of cheese from the pack.

The trouble was, he mused, that there existed a point where good manners and consideration for others feelings took a secondary importance. As he considered the steadily increasing rain, and the winds picking up along the cliff face, the feeling arose that this might be one such point. He didn't know many people who'd survive a drop from her height, and those generally picked better spots to land than the bottom of this escarpment. Like very deep water, not a shallows pool. I can at least offer. Rather not have someone fall to their death. A small snort, and the sturdy young man put his lunch back, tied it up, and got up again.

Before asking, he found a good sturdy tree, a little closer to the edge, and wound a few coils of his rope about it. Once he'd tied it off, Harakan came back to the cliff and leaned over. Just in case, he kept the rope's loose end in one fist. "You're sure you won't need to speed things up? Only the storm's coming in and I've a rope up here if you'd like."

Refusal had him glancing up and out, marking the increasing violence of winds and an incoming squall. Not to mention the glow and rumbling of distant clouds over the sea. "Not sure we can wait..." As well as he knew the mountains of his home, he was learning the weather better. They came part and parcel with his line of work. The peaks were themselves the horizon, and the highest points of that. Storms changed them all the time, as did gentler wind and rain. And this one was coming in faster, as though it were hungry. He could've sworn, if asked, that some of that thunder sounded like growling.

Harakan couldn't have been called the best at reading people, but he knew suspicion when he heard it. So concerned with the land as he was, the young man hadn't ever paid much attention to the political climate between Belrea and its neighboring island. The actual climate always seemed far more relevant to anything he was about. Then again, he hadn't spoken to a Vandrea before. Most of what he knew boiled down to 'don't trespass on their island'. "Isn't there any way you'd trust me? I could give you my word as a Geian that I mean no harm."

Maybe she thinks it isn't fastened, or it's too weak? Showing is better than promises then.As a token demonstration, he drew the slack of his rope into a coil in his fist and deliberately leaned over the edge, letting the woven fiber alone keep him from falling.

She probably couldn't see the wry twist to his frown, not between shade and rain. Had he a mirror, he might have realized how suspicious he looked, but the small shaving glass he did have was back at camp. Same boat there, eh? Damn. Beyond demonstration there was little else to do but swear his oath. He had to take a moment, think of a good one. The hood dipped, and drew it back from his face, stepping back to firmer rock. Being better able to see his face couldn't hurt. Harakan's casual cheer left him, replaced by stone firmness. "I swear on the living mountains that cradle our homes, and my place upon them; I'll do you no willing wrong."

The moment she accepted, if she accepted, he'd loose the coil and play out the slack down to Ahmanet's position. If not, well... he'd very likely drop the end down to her before long. There was simply no time to be petty on his end. The wind had begun to howl in earnest as it scraped outcroppings of stone. The sort of wind to drive rain into the soil and try to unseat nests from trees. The broad trunk secured it firmly, but he'd still brace against her mass and haul back as best he could. She seemed more slender, sure. Alks were a taller people, and height put down weight on its own.

"Come on! The storm won't have you today!"

Between her renewed climbing, the sturdy teen's hauling back, and the rope in general, she'd gained the edge just in time. The squall had arrived proper, thunder grumbling in the distance with a clear displeasure. With the rain picking up again, he pulled the hood back over his green hair. In better position now, she'd see a smile returned to the nut-brown face. "Glad to help! Wouldn't have sat right to watch Old Man Storm just swoop in and scoop someone off the cliff."

This close, that voice of his made up for the difference in height. It surely belonged to a much larger person, each word almost feeling like a hearty slap on the back. He certainly didn't act as though Ahmanet towered over him (and she did!). Bright green eyes did pause on the khopesh for a moment, unarmed as he currently stood. She'd sworn no oath like to his, after all. "Come on, let's be out of the wet. I'm called Harakan. Imagine you're a bit peckish after your climb; I was settling down to take my lunch here anyhow. You're welcome to join me for a bite.

Simple fare, I'm afraid, bread and cheese and a few local plums, but I've enough to share." For the moment, he'd decided to treat her as any stranger out here on the slopes, earthling or alkidike. She hadn't tried to gut him yet, so offering a meal probably cemented their current friendliness. He'd wave for her to follow, and lead on to a wide evergreen, just a little ways past where he'd tied the rope. Under it, his pack still sat, as yet unplundered, as did his heavy staff. Both of them remained relatively safe from the damp, thanks to the thick needles taking all the rain.

The adolescents were playing carefully, each in their own way. As any creature might do with a new encounter, he was sure. So, now that she sat down at his... well there wasn't actually a fire, so that staple of hospitality didn't apply. He hadn't been here long enough to need one by the time the Vandrea had become audible. She'd sat down at an offer of dry seating and food, though, and that counted. For wanderers, hospitality was a sacred thing, holy in all but name.

Do when he'd checked his pack and ensured nothing had wriggled in, Harakan produced his vittles and began dividing them up. Not in halves, though it might still portion out that way. No, he took a knife from his belt and sawed through the leathery hide of the bread first, taking a chunk of the heel for himself and passing his 'guest' another of equal size. Next came the cheese, which worked much alike; he'd carve off what he wanted, and offer the same to the young warrior. The rest was laid out on a small cloth between them, for ease of access if either remained peckish. This included a small pile of ripe plums, which he didn't bother cutting.

Here in the shade, the sheer aural volume of him dialed back, though the deep timbre continued to boom. "Good to meet you, Ahmanet. What brings you to our mainland when old Father Sky's in a mood? Odd day to be out challenging cliffs, wot?" Once and if she accepted some food, then he'd have a bite for himself. Or refused it, as was her prerogative. Wariness doesn't just fade away in a moment. But it's bad manners to eat in front of someone without. Tastes worse, too. A thought occurred. Carelessness, hard luck, or...? "I'm not interrupting a dramatic escape, am I?"

"The timing's a touch delicate, but it's a good place for it. You've scaled faces like these often, then?" The staff remained where it had been laid, though close to hand. Thick hardwood, capped at the bottom with the metal hiking spike, a mountaineer's tool. She was right; it would be a bit too heavy to do much to her in the current setting; not to an armed and trained alkidike sister. Luckily for both teens (likely him more than her), it wasn't usually for hitting people, and certainly not peaceable folk.

He nodded, gnawing a moment at his tough bread. "Glad to hear. Don't often see swords out here, bit awkward for use on beasts. For all I knew you were in some spot of trouble." Back to his lunch for a few bites. A bit dry, but that was to be expected of travel-bread. A slice of sharp cheese atop it balanced textures nicely. Harakan arranged his thoughts as he chewed, in no hurry with the storm's tantrum pounding around their shelter. The rhythm of it, along with the wind and trees rustling, broadened the smile on the geian's face. Lovely weather.

A thumb jerked towards the highlands while he finished his current bite. A flash of lightning suggested hills between the peaks on this range. "Surveying this mountain, charting her particulars and changes. Just got done with the next one up north, so we're taking a day or two to rest. No sense in challenging the old girl exhausted, is there? Not as though she's inclined to wander off." Harakan put the food down on his knee, picking up a plum instead. "Or did you want to know more general reasons?"