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[777thdegree]

The front door opens, to admit a small, tow-haired boy in tunic and leggings, his slightly shapeless boots spattered in mud.

He freezes just inside the doorway, his ice-grey eyes gone wide and startled.

"I didn't do it."

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[777thdegree]

Skellig's stare surely isn't calming the boy down, which may account for why his reply is practically stuttered.

"P... P... Pixie?"

[27_53]

If the sound of Skellig's brain trying to make sense of these words could be heard, it would sound vaguely like someone shuffling through an old-school Rolodex in an effort to find a certain name and telephone number.

"Not a pixie," he laughs. "Or a fairy. I am not like them - kind of like you, though. You are...different."

He tilts his head this way, and that way, trying to study the boy, and figure out what is Different about him.