Silvereye sits on the beach, legs outstretched before him and his paws planted into the sand behind him for support. For once he's out of his uniform, having donned more comfortable clothing for the evening. Despite the time of night some wind is coming off the water, picking up the edges of his jacket and tossing it around his back. The Longclaw wears a light smile on his features, gaze out towards the horizon. "The mines?" Ripplefur whispers in hushed tones, the historical dread with which that term is filled permeating the short syllables. "Your father worked in the mines?"