"...And I'd rather have heard it from you than anyone else."

He ducks his head, abashed, and smiles wistfully and the tops of his dirty boots. "Well," he says, but nothing else follows, like the words and the feelings just won't come together and form a coherent whole. Instead, after a pause, he just pushes a hand over the top of his bald head and exhales into the dark.

"I'm exhausted." It's dim in here, but for the candle, and he should probably sort out wood for the stove before he even thinks about crashing for the night. Pensively, he looks to Vandelin. "Do you want to stay over tonight?"