The broad - shouldered lord appears terribly bashful, hands held behind his back while he kicks a pebble between his booted feet. Conversation about anything other than his martial studies or his newfound interest in Old Valyria, its people and language, was terribly difficult to make. The teenager pouts his lips to a corner of his mouth, dark hues peering down at the other. “Spring is almost o’er. I do not want for Summer. Hardly.” He laughs faintly. “I was a babe of Winter.”