Tsk. [Theres another (mild) tug at the end of his own handiwork for daring to ask that question— but it's the tone that keeps everything kittenishly gentle; manners would dictate Fenris never ask at all, but manners don't give answers. Plus, he finds he likes that bluntness. That its momentum also occasional swings back around to smack him in the face is just the cost of doing business.

He's smiling when he gets up and crosses the room, taking his brush with him.]

No one's cared enough to ask outside Riftwatch.

[A pause over his travel bag, thick leather buckles held still but for a moment.] ....yet.

But is it really so unthinkable? I mean, granted I know this world isn't all sunshine and rainbows for hardships, but really, I can't be the oldest elf you've come across.

[Oh, gods.

He turns around, peering with renewed focus.]

....am I....?