Swamped

You shrug as best as you can with one arm and pick the first male grebling you remember meeting.

"Robert?"

Liz shakes her head.

"Nope. Interesting guess, though... for a human."

"It's not like I know everyone around here yet," you point out. "I've met maybe twelve or so greblings? And this camp's pretty big. What do you mean, for a human?"

"Lost of humans have trouble telling how old greblings are. They wind up guessing old man Theodore, even though he's nearly old enough to be Pops' pops. When I ask new greblings, though, they usually guess Robert. Not sure if it's because they think he's fatherly, or if it's just that they all know him because he gives them a quick check-up when they arrive."

"So I made a boring guess, but it's a boring grebling guess instead of a boring human guess," you say, with a slight smirk.

"Pretty much! And that's kinda funny. Anyhow, our Pops is Jebediah, the priest."

That strikes you as odd. Back when you worked at the theater, one of the grebling performers told you that grebling priests aren't allowed to have families, a prohibition that supposedly goes back to before the gods other than Reth abandoned them.

You wonder if you should even bring up the subject. Perhaps it would be better to just thank them and be on your way. But you have to admit, you're curious now.