Regardless of how he felt, he'd still been concerned. Not just about the religious outburst. He'd heard the Knight-Commander had been injured. How and how bad, he didn't know, but when Alayre enters the tent, he searches for any sign of lingering hurt.

He tries to make his space, and himself, a little more presentable. The blankets he'd piled over himself for warmth are hastily tossed off and rolled up and placed in the corner. He pulls on a cloak instead. Nothing near as fine as what Alayre is wearing, but it's new and lined with fur, and a pale blue. The trader went on and on about how it brought out his eyes, so he felt obligated to purchase it...

"You don't have to bring me gifts every time we meet." Salvatore takes the tray and sets it on the flat chest he'd been using as a writing desk. "Sit where you like. The space is mine for the time being."