Strange checks on his frozen glass, tilting it in the firelight, and then sips some of the melted liquid.

“Resisted joining Riftwatch? What, when we have such luxuries to offer?” A vague gesture of his hand to the broken towers, the tumbledown wall. It’s a dry stab at humour despite (or perhaps exactly because of) that tension at the corners of Benedict’s mouth; an attempt to smooth the way for the rest of this story, whatever it is.