"That sort of thing has been... happening lately." There's a thoughtful slowness to the boy's voice that doesn't fully fit his thirteen-year-old looks; it's more ponderous, calculating. Luther finally sets the sofa down on its side, hands propped against its edges as he looks over this new version of Askeladd. It's a longer, more thorough view than that short glimpse he got from a memory.
"You've probably learned that this world is pretty weird and not anything like what you're used to from home, right?" (Not that Luther knew much about his origins; Askeladd was so tight-lipped about everything.)
"Some kind of magic has been making people older, younger, and messing with their memories. You've been in this world before as an older man — both of us have. We knew each other, before."
It's a weird thing to try to convince someone of, and hard to do when he isn't even armed with enough personal details to convince the other kid. But he's trying. And he finally touches on the only raw nerve he knows of, the piece of information Luther wasn't even supposed to receive:
"Your, uh. Your mother is blonde like you and has blue eyes. You worked in a smithy."
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"You've probably learned that this world is pretty weird and not anything like what you're used to from home, right?" (Not that Luther knew much about his origins; Askeladd was so tight-lipped about everything.)
"Some kind of magic has been making people older, younger, and messing with their memories. You've been in this world before as an older man — both of us have. We knew each other, before."
It's a weird thing to try to convince someone of, and hard to do when he isn't even armed with enough personal details to convince the other kid. But he's trying. And he finally touches on the only raw nerve he knows of, the piece of information Luther wasn't even supposed to receive:
"Your, uh. Your mother is blonde like you and has blue eyes. You worked in a smithy."