The mare laughed as he spoke, the merriment seeming to build up into a crescendo and vanish all at once. It didn't bother him, it was merely of interest. What had she found so funny? She then muttered something swept away by the wind, her wild green mane floating behind her softly by the same. Sketch was reminded of a memory long ago, of lines of white sheets drifting carelessly in a golden field, and a warm smile… He quickly shook himself; no, not now. "Take the cloak I left behind," she said, snapping him out of his stupor. That's right; he was pressed for time. He sighed, inwardly cursing his somewhat absent-minded nature. He then watched as she put on her sword, a small well of panic building up inside of the unfortunate stallion due to what he might refer to as “prominent situationality.” She wished him good luck, laying stress on his ambiguous name, and started to turn away as his mind raced. Would it be wise to simply let her leave? He had come this far, and introductions and names can be hard to come by. Before she had made more than a couple of steps, he had made his decision. “Be warned; names carry a lot of power.” somepony once told him, their voice lost in the folds of time. “For ponies of our kind, a name can be extremely simple, or a deep insight into one’s soul.” He shrugged, for while this advice was no less true then as it was now, he possessed a less revealing name then most; or at least less obvious in it's meaning. “Sketch” he said, loud enough that she could hear clearly. “That is my name.” He looked out to sea, comforted somehow by the muted colors and crashing sea, certain that she was somehow aware of how much it pained him to say this… “I… require your assistance." he said, his voice dropping slightly. He glanced sideways at the pony facing away from him. What would she do?