Her initial smile is small but mighty in its relief, and easily transitions into an agreeable laugh. "Something tells me Gentivi would be more grateful that his volumes are being read enough for creased pages. But perhaps I'm presuming too much."

She requests for a closer look at the tome he's just picked up ("May I?") and hefts it in her hands; it's considerably lighter than the holy books she'd devoured in her last days, and if she remembers correctly, far more entertaining and self-aware in its tone and message.

"Are you also someone who believes in the goodness of humanity, ser?" she asks, gently rubbing out the more obvious folds in a few pages before closing it to ensure proper recovery. The thought of religion sticks in her thoughts even more painfully than the dull ache of her hand, her ribs; at least this branch of conversation will feel safer.