"Hobgoblin?" He finally stopped stirring whatever it was that he was cooking. He narrowed his eyes at Oliver, more attentive than he had been. "Hm… There haven't been any large-scale raids organized lately," his eyes regained their sleepiness, and he went back to stirring. "Whatever Hobgoblin you have is likely dried, no?"
"No, it's fresh still, two days old," Oliver said. The ladle stopped completely this time, and the boy sat up. He finally seemed to look at them, taking in who they are.
"Black hair, a doll's face, long legs… Hm… You're the Blackthorn?" He said. The way he identified her based on her characteristics was like he'd read about her, rather than heard of her.
"That's Lady Blackthorn to you," Amelia said pompously, "and stop looking at her legs, you brute!"
