The young apprentice did nothing inciting as he went about eating his meal. He slouched down in the chair, sat with his legs a little wider than a normal women would - but not spread like an invitation. The looks and whistles were ignored. Every moment when he didn't have to face what he had to do later was holding onto. The stew familiar - Arran's mind briefly distracted itself by trying to work out whether the Highfax food had tasted subtly different. He liked to think it did, as it made him feel more worldly. Traveled.<br/><br/>Something that wouldn't mean anything to the man who wondered over. His name was... R... Rolf? Reolof? Something. Arran couldn't be sure whether he knew him from his days before the change, or if he'd... done things with him. A bit a flush crept up his neck at the thought, and he had to strangle down a feeling of impotent rage.<br/><br/>"Travelling." The answer was curt - the world barely clearing his mouth before it was bitten off.