He spots the dark hair, curling a bit, not all unlike his. But trolls don't get a family with other trolls, lest they be of the carnival, or someone got to counting them all as family. And he's an adult. That's a big no right all there.

But still something draws him closer, like the way the ocean pulled when he didn't think better of its current. So he keeps low, lightly crouched, crawling where he needs to. If he's seen he's dead, if he's heard he's dead. But he has to get closer and so closer he gets, wide eyes still grey set in yellow, not a trace of indigo to be seen yet.