Tamberlyn laughs, uncruelly. "Honey, you sing it. But honestly..." She lowers her voice to a stage whisper, as she conveys conspiratorial girl-talk. "If I had a dress like that and the figure to pull it off, I'd brave the skeeters too. Beauty is pain, they say." She laughs at her own commentary a little, then takes out a slate and chalk to make a note for herself. "I'll see if we can't mix up something so those bites don't itch like hell tomorrow. But bad as it is out here, thank you for answering the call.
There's worse out here than the skeeters, and even the raptors; and the lost boys out there'll be scared and hungry and happy as hell to see you, when you find them."

Spoiler: Isaera's Dream, Continued
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You hear a tsk, and a quiet flutter of laughter from him as you deflect the compliment. Your father, who has spent most of your life saturating you and your siblings with compliments and encouragement, is not strongly incentivized to dissuade you from a moment of humility. Without articulating it directly, that little scoff communicates both that he thinks you’re underselling your contribution in this crisis, but that he will honor your desire to downplay it.

But he doesn’t laugh when you invoke that exchange between him and his mother; infact, his attention settles on you quiet intensely, and his composed demeanor flashes through a moment of paternal horror in which he considers that this question may have been tormenting his daughter from the moment the exchange happened, until now. He doesn’t waste a heartbeat’s time in putting it to rest.

“When I met your mother, I was… a little obnoxiously flippant, I think; and a braggart, and a bundle of other petty vices fit the memory also. And she was acid-tongued, and vain, and extremely good at manipulating men’s hearts. And fate arrayed us such that we would collide with one another; and she would wear down my flaws, and I wore down hers. Our courtship filled with…” He smiles in memory, shaking his head a little as if to dislodge some cluster of recollections from a vault of experiences so choked with things worth smiling about that they needed force to be separated. “With smug dismissal, and catty threats, and accusations, and apologies, and big, romantic stunts to restore her favor. I used to pretend to forget her parent’s names, just to make her angry, long past the point when I was good friends with them. And she used to remind me that she could replace me with a younger lover with a snap of her fingers, just to cut me down to size when I took her for granted. I think she meant it, a very long time ago; and she absolutely could replace me in a heartbeat, because she’s the most beautiful woman in the world. But she doesn’t mean that she would. That’s just… It’s part of a cipher she and I have. It means she loves me, in the language of our time spent together. This is nothing.” He touches the little crescent scar with one finger, and smiles with one corner of his mouth. “If anything, I think she likes it. So don’t worry about it Little Sunbean; I’m not going anywhere.”

Little Sunbean, expressed in Common - an affectionate sobriquet for you he sometimes employs, harkening back to days earlier than your memory. The way he tells the story, you were two years old and beginning to learn the human Common tongue along side your Thalassian; and advanced as you were, you struggled to parse the differences in your dental morphemes. ‘Sunbeam’ became ‘Sunbean’ in a faulty pronunciation, and it made your father laugh, so you kept saying it. Your mother swears the story is apocryphal, but your father stakes his sacred honor on its veracity.

“You’ll develop your own little couple-rituals when I marry you off to prince Kael’Thas.”

This is almost certainly a joke. But he is… frightfully good at keeping a straight face, when tormenting his children with fabrications. It is another fatherly quality in which he excels.