It does not matter to him whether a name is shared at the start or end of meeting someone, and so it does not strike him as impolite to have conversed for as long as they did without knowing that he is Mateo and she is Reckitt. They would exchange that pleasantry eventually, and in the mean time he would know her by the lines of her face and the three blue dots beneath each eye and the way her lips moved quietly before picking each plant. He had an incredible memory, especially when it came to individuals and the details that made them unique-- details far more striking than a name.
Although, he had never met someone with a name like Reckitt.
He looks skeptically at the plant he just plucked, hovering in the air before him. "Liver disorders?" It seems like an incredibly specific use, and he wonders who figured that out and how long ago. And how many people were accidentally poisoned in the process. The healers always seemed, to his inexperienced eye, to just grind things together, mix them with water or something, and call it medicine. He had not realized how much care and deliberation went into their craft. "Is it common for a plant to be used to heal and also hurt?" He watches her curiously. Despite her incredible lack of coordination, the mare has an air of calm knowing, like he could ask any question and she would simply pause, dig around in her mind for the answer, and deliver it to him with a quiet, magnetic grace.
She would find that he has many, many questions.
When she compliments his wings he flushes with pride. "Oh?" He flares them and turns his neck to look, as though they may have changed since the last time he saw them. They're still big and sleek and a deep, deep shade of black that sucks up the sunlight. "Thank you," he tucks them once again at his sides. His grin is so large it might just fall off his face. The boy was far more used to giving compliments than receiving them.
"Me? A medic?!" He laughs at the thought. He could not stand blood, did not much like getting his hands dirty, and would just as soon poison someone than cure their liver disorder. "Gods no," he continues, once his laughter has passed, "I try to help out once in a while though. I'm a scholar." He says this proudly, for it was a well respected role in Deluminian society. This was not so in most of Novus, or (he assumed, and read) in the rest of the world. "And yes, the proper term is medic," he laughs again. Gently this time, not intending to offend. "You're not from Novus, are you?" His voice curls at the end in excitement but out of politeness he doesn't push her for details. The pegasus had scarcely left the borders of Delumine. Most of what he knew of the world was second-hand, and the thinks that he's okay with that. He has too many questions to possibly answer them all himself.
"I'm glad you're here, and not one of the other courts," he says eventually, with a small, coy smile.
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@Reckitt
