Mynse was excited-his axes spun in casual, whirling arcs. He took a moment to think of his question, wondering what be covered by the others. He had heard legends of Genies before-the Mouslings of the Riverfolk called them "Wishfishers". Fishermen who offered delicious bait. With the heavy implication of the sharp hook at the end of every bargain.
After a moment, in a high pitched piping voice.
"S'okay. What was your sister like? Will we be saving her from the Wishfisher? Or saving her from...herself?" He said, his nose twitching, watching the brother closely.
Lies. Mynse had learned about lying, during his years as a Sniffer. He had found most peoples bodies-their soul, he thought-showed the truth their words might not. He knew Lionfellows put a lot of unconscious thought on their tails. You could tell what they were thinking-a fast swish indicated excitement, a slight droop might be a evasion of a known truth. When they were surprised it tended to whip back and forth sharply. Combine that with other tells, and a gift of logic and some empathy, and you've got your man nine times out of ten...of course, if you were smart, you trained your body to lie about your lying. But, that had tells too. In a silent war of facial twitches, nervous habits, and subdued words arrayed against truth, both sides tended to get better armed over time. Mynse was good for his age, though. He even knew the difference between lies that are on purpose...or, when someone lies because they wish it to be true...
These things made Mynse sad, to know them. But, they had saved his life and others, many times before.
..
He turned to the others, afterwards.
"Ah, and pleasure. I am Mynse Barrelbreaker, of the Crooktails, of the Rivermice. A long way from home, and the journeys not even started yet!
I for one, am excited." He said, clinking his axes together with a bell-like ring.