There were already two people inside when they entered: one a young woman, whose lack of uniform marked her as a different [rank] and someone stoking a fire on the far side of the room.

Calaba snorted and didn’t waste any time leaving their procession for her clansmen. Whatever she said to the girl was too low to hear, but then she raised her voice to carry to the meeting hall’s other occupant. “And what did this one get himself into this time?”

The person– an older man from his posture and greyed hair– raised his head to look at her, but wasn’t the one who answered. It was the younger woman who spoke for him, hand muffling a laugh, “We ran across a beached Magikarp on our way here. He threw it back into the river and the Alpha drenched him as thanks.”

“Ah.” Calaba said, eyeing the man as he righted himself with the nearby chair, then settled a waiting crutch beneath one arm. “And here I’d thought the fool had simply deigned to listen to his fellow Wardens. [implies that he should stop dragging his coat everywhere]”

“We have had this discussion. It’s not harming anyone” He rasped, limping close enough to get a halfway decent look at him. Though he still had a swath of pale pink fabric wrapped around his hips, the matching tunic was gone– one of several items draped across the chair by the fire, presumably to dry. His long hair hung loose in wet, formless clumps, and combined with the slope of his shoulders, it lent him an incredibly haunted air. Dutifully, he took up position opposite Calaba, flanking the unknown woman.

—

He folded his arms over his chest, processing that information.

Of course he knew of the Warden– how could he not, when one of his sons had named himself after the man– but it was odd to think that he’d met someone who would eventually be recognized as [idk the title, but set a standard for battling/the league].

—

The girl blew into the flute, and the resounding handful of notes were echoed by another, further into the territory. She tucked it away and looked to him, “You coming?”

[…]

“HEY!” Akari yelled apropos nothing, glaring [idk where this is/scenery], “WHAT ARE YOU DOING, MISTER? PESSELLE TOLD YOU TO STAY OFF THAT LEG.”

“I appreciate your concern, Miss Akari!” The figure called back– just as loudly, but, somehow, it was hard to say he was shouting, “However, I assure you that I’ve taken the proper precautions to ensure safety and functionality!”

Independent of Akari doing the same, Drayden sped up– hasty, perhaps, but for good reason. [Needs to verify, wants to keep Ingo from walking on the bad leg any more than he already has]

The nearer he drew, the more obvious two things became: yes, this was the Warden he’d met in the [neutral ground] longhouse, the [title from before], but also–

Gods, it really was Ingo, wasn’t it? Drayden had looked directly at his son and not recognized him.