He knows why the sudden shift in Anders' tone happened, and it still hurts to hear in a strange irrational way. This isn't someone whose friendship Myr wants or whose particular happiness should concern him; quite the opposite--but the instincts of a lifetime die hard.

Anders' pointed little mention of his own schools of magic--something Myr's inclined to take as a deliberate barb right now--does a good job of killing them. He sets his jaw and nods in acknowledgment of the answer all the same. "I wish you the best of luck with it, then."

Don't rise to the bait. Don't let them see they can get to you. Focus on the questions you're asked and give nothing else back. (One of the bumblebees, loosed from the gentle reins of Myr's compulsion, drifts over to land on the elf's fingers. He ignores it as it investigates them.)

"I like flowers," he replies, simply. "And I was a student of natural history back in Hasmal. Had I known you'd organized the expedition, though, I would have waited for another opportunity for fieldwork."

There isn't any malice in his tone; the words are stated plain. It would have been kinder to both of them if he'd known beforehand to stay away; it's his own fault for jumping in blind.