Myr's tempted sore to argue--to lay out the heartsick reasoning of months that had led him to defend the Kirkwallers' right to make of Sina's forest what they had--but he knows better than to start. It's not the time or place; mourning the loss of the forest is mourning Sina's death anew. (He wants desperately to hope the anger, the threats might be put to the foolishness of grief, but there's no refuge for him in that kind of naïveté any longer. The world is large and cruel; an elf must perforce grow fangs and claws or be crushed beneath it.)

Besides, if he's going to be contrary, better to be contrary defending a concrete goal--like the sovereignty of the alienage-- Though here is Saoirse saying all he'd say on the matter, and more besides. Myr wisely keeps his mouth shut until she's made an end of speaking. "It's a wise idea," he says quietly, once she has. "I'll be glad, for my part, to meet with her."

A beat of a pause--then, to Sorrel: "And 'no secrets' means you tell her if there's any risk to the vhenadahl from this." Magic that could encourage a graft to take he can believe--can even start to think of how such a spell might work--but magic has it limits.