"There is," Francis agrees, and offers the youth a little smile as he sits. "And the dance itself..." And here, he gestures towards the dancers, tilting his head a little, considering. "It is a very unusual one, in some ways, had you noticed? The Turkic influence in the footwork, and something almost Celtic to the arms. I've never seen anything quite like it."

Still, his eyes linger on the dancers for only a moment before turning back to his new companion. The boy is younger, Francis thinks, than he had first guessed - still with the soft jaw and smooth skin of adolescence. A lord's son, perhaps, or some student travelling the mountains for his education? Certainly, from the manner of speech, someone better-bred than Francis himself, despite clothes almost as hard-worn as his own.

"You are not from around here either, I take it?" He sips his drink, and those grey eyes are scanning Eona's face now, considering. "From your accent, in any case."