Adax blinked, watching as the man stood, stretching his hand out for him. He glanced lightly to the man's right, the moon bright and round just beyond. He closed his eyes, that quiet shame rearing it's head. He lifted his hood over his head before taking the outstretched hand. But he did not release it immediately, silver eyes watching the man's face with light curiosity.

"Something troubles you...?" he said matter-of-factually, not once looking away from his face. The agitated whispers of the voices continued deep in his mind, giving the weathered man an idea of what stood before him. But little idea of what was troubling him. And that was where this new curiosity lie; why did he appear distraught and why was he running.