#lukas in da box :pleading_face:

[beholdenning]

Lukas couldn't help but feel left out whenever he saw the others communicate with Denning with hand gestures. Despite all the people who travel through the Valley Approach, the culture itself has always been on the conservative side, never quick to accept new ideas or ways of being. Signs were used in patrols, not casual conversation. Anyone who couldn't use their words would easily find themselves left behind and forgotten...

Lukas waves Denning over. He refuses to let the language barrier come between him and someone who's proven themselves to be a steadfast, reliable ally. His grasp on signs is rough, just cobbled together from what he's observed from the others, but he still tries.

"You did very well, Denning. Thank you for all of your help." His hands don't quite capture the message, 'You were good. Very strong. Thank you.' "I hope it's not too much to ask, but... would you be able to teach me about your sign language?" 'Help. Teach me to speak with hands.' "I teach speech classes. How to talk to other people and communicate what you want to say. I think this sort of thing would be valuable for the other students to learn." 'Teach my talking class. They need help and they are happy to be taught.

If anything, Lukas hopes the genuine smile on his face conveys how grateful he is for Denning's help in these battles.

Many of his kin are unthinking, unspeaking; There is no need for either when they all know the same strategies, have the same directives, when they are all bound so by their duty. One falls into step where the other has fallen, marching forth like clockwork, as soldiers that only exist as ideals, as simulated pieces upon a board.

Humanity is a double-edged blade, in that way. It is both the weakness and strength they noticed in the students, the failings and the surprising points where they excelled, struggling against impossible odds. Perhaps it was merely the miracle of their stage. Perhaps...

... He would have to fight by them more often to be sure. But when the man with hair of russet-red waves him over, Denning is sure of one thing; That this man had not escaped their scrutiny for want of competence or skill, but because those who are most skilled, most steady, most integral to the group, oft do not fall into notice until they are struck down. Each time, their scattering formation was due to this man's fall.

Yes, he is steady and true, like a rock, like arrow-flight on a windstill day. The morph trots to him after a brief pause, hands by his sides, not expecting three of their number to know sign; And is surprised when he does, even if it is halting, uncertain not like one taught or one remembering, but one who is improvising. Golden eyes widen the barest of fractions, before Denning's hands come up to rest in idle, ready to give a reply...

The compliments roll of him like water from swan-feathers, though the smile is noted, but the request surprises him; Not only to teach one, but teach many...? The morph, knight, Instructor, as Nanna had dubbed him, had tried to fulfill that role once, and though the girl was, is satisfied, he is not. Teaching when he is meant to learn; It is an experience not unlike telling a cat to sit and roll over, or a dog to leap from height and land unharmed.

Still, it is hardly a contemplation. Would you and Teach are at odds — One a request, the other a command. Still, both ring the same to the morph's mind, and the word need is a potent one, indeed, so they nod in affirmative, moving their hands slowly that he may parse;

'if you wish it, i will.' Then, a pause. 'you know my name. may i know yours?'