It was never so cold in the Bheo as all this, but it would not have been home if it could have been. Those that lived there -- one entire side of his bloodline -- they would have died due to the cold. They were sensitive to it, and terribly so. The cold made them fragile and weak, but there were downsides to everything, and that was so very clearly one of theirs. Lasairian had to be grateful to his other side for the fact that he could withstand the cold much better than them. That didn't mean he hadn't been raised with the concern of cold, but in such a culture that could not be helped.

It was what they knew could bring damage to them, and in a mixed situation, one did not often know right off what hazards would come from which side. In a fight, Lasairian could not hope to match against the higher tiers of his community; but in the cold, he could out-weather them all. The worst of their fatal flaws, but they had more than that on a situational basis. The other side had flaws of their own, though most of that was a little more shrouded from him due to sheer inexperience of what that culture actually was.

His father had not been able to be raised among others of his kind, but that was a story of it's own, and not all that prominent in Lasairian's. Yet the other side of it did open up the reason why Lasairian felt so uneasy with the winter and all that came with it. He was aware it couldn't harm him unless more extreme than this, but that did not erase how he had been raised, and that deep down unease at the mere thought of the cold wrapping icy fingers around him. He had been adjusting as well as possible under these conditions, but it was still strange to reflect upon.

Not as bad as all the thoughts of what he had left behind and why, but that was something that cut and settled deep. Something that he could not escape, even if the weather was perfectly warm and bright. It twisted itself up at his insides, but that was precisely why Lasairian needed to refocus himself. He could bury himself in seeking out knowledge, of obtaining magic once more. Losing it was like losing a limb, and forgetting it was no longer there at times. Thinking that he could flex it if he wanted to, but having it hit him -- and hard -- when it did nothing at all.

He wondered if it was perhaps because of leaving, of some self sabotage, that he was doing it to himself on some deeper level that he couldn't shake away. Hindering himself, blocking that part of himself off, because maybe that was what he felt he deserved. Lasairian couldn't be sure of any of that, but he wasn't putting it past himself, either. He was troubled and lost, so why not resort to something like this to try and force himself to figure his shit out? To push himself to find the right path again? Right now, however, he did not know what direction that was in.

Lasairian lets his mind wander as he stares out across the plains; the opposite direction in which someone else approaches. It's that, the memories he's immersed in, and the wind hissing past his ears that keeps him from noticing right off that she's there. The word called out is what catches his attention at last, and Lasairian looks over at her, his expression settling into perfect politeness as his ears flick in her direction to catch anything else she might say, "oh, morning," he responds, allowing a light curve of a smile on his face towards her.

He wanted to fit into these lands, but he was still struggling to learn the overall culture and social structure, and it probably showed. "Pardon, I was lost in thought and didn't notice I wasn't alone out here. I hope you're well?" the words are evenly spoken, and his gaze sweeps carefully over her, nothing too intense, just taking in the appearance of to whom he is speaking with. He notices the scar at her face, but his expression doesn't alter at all at the sight; in his own culture, scars that do not fade away carry deep stories, and it is not is place to ask something so personal as that.

He can't help but be as distracted as he is, and for many reasons, but it wasn't the best of things when the lands were still full of so many unknowns. There could be danger lurking, and Lasairian could have been ambushed simply for his lack of being aware. He should have been, for those things and more, but here he was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he had taken far too long to realize that someone was around. That they were close enough to speak up, and he hadn't noticed until just then.

Not good on his observational skills in any way, that much was for sure. He had enough self ridicule going on through his head for it, but he wouldn't let that cloud his expression. No, he wanted to be polite in greeting others, and apologetic in the fact that he had been so lost in thought that he did not notice her there before she had spoken. He was curious about the scar on her face and the story it might tell, but there was no way he could ask such a personal thing. Only silently muse on it, and keep his eyes elsewhere.

He wouldn't mind discussing how he got the rune scarred into his shoulder, though the tale had some parts to it that might raise a brow or two when spoken of. Uncommon practice, what he had done to put that there. Certainly as to why he had done it and what it meant. Those two things he might not want to discuss outright, though. Some things were a little too fresh and close to home for him to speak of. Even if he had done it years ago. Yet there was a good reason as to why is was still a bloody color.

Mostly, because he had done that very much on purpose. Lasairian hadn't wanted it to fade like some scars tended to do. Bleeding from the eyes on occasion, well, that was just a birth abnormality that he couldn't really shake away. He endured, tried mostly to ignore it when at all possible. Yet the dried trails down his face still remained. The thoughts don't get to stay, he's attentive to the mare there with him now. He feels like there's something knowing about her, though. He could sense it, almost.

Lasairian just doesn't know what it was or what it meant. She does look cold, though, and that is hard for him to ignore. He doesn't imagine her response is all that sincere, but how could he tell that it wasn't just because she was cold and nothing more than that? He couldn't. She turns the question to him, and Lasairian ponders it a moment, "things could always be worse, and this isn't the worst place to be right now," he responds honestly to her. And then, "if you're cold, you can get closer, and I will turn my other side towards the wind," he offers it gently.