[Bennet meets Stratos's gaze blandly, without a hint of suspicion or anger. Whatever else can be said about him, he is not a man who dwells in the past. What has happened before his before; his concern is for the here and now.]

Far north of here, then? [The question is put gamely, as though he were interested -- and he is.] A perilous place to call home, I would think. I was myself raised in a small peasant village in my native France. Living was difficult, but not for the land -- that at least was fertle and welcoming.

[He moves at a brisk pace, swift and sure-footed, clearly in his element.]