"That's a lot of optimism for this place," Waver admitted. Almost everyone he had spoken to seemed to be mentally going goddamnit, Kirkwall and what had been encountered so far only furthered such thoughts. The idea of this thing having any staying power alone was, well, a nice surprise. "Or for such adventures in general. But perhaps I'm too much a critic."

Always a critic, really, and in a way that rarely served him well. Waver knew that about himself at the very least, and had long since learned to rein it in.

"I'll keep an eye out, and trust that the delivery system will work." The best thing Waver could think of for the time being was the sundry pies that he consumed from shops and the rare time he decided to sit in a pub for a meal. Those things could last a while too, which could only be a good thing. "I think you'd like where I live back home, come to think of it. The shopfronts are there, so's the food, and the river snakes through the centre of the city." The international cuisine reputation of England not withstanding.

Waver follows without hesitation, and instead he crouches down beside her to help examine the pots. They're all small, in plain pots made of peat. Getting a better container for them is on Waver's to-do list, but he'd rather know the area they'll be in first so he can get the best housing for them. "Oof. She's taken this long to recover from it?"