[ He keeps his gaze politely off her, despite the pressing awareness of her blood. Even with his back turned, he feels acutely aware of her position in the room, as though knowing where the sun hits his back; she is a central point of gravity that smells of wine and blackberries.

But he's not been challenged to stop wanting it, only to stop showing it. ]

I'm afraid she's never been particularly eager to share the details of her experiences back home, nor have I been particularly eager to pry.

[ He pours their cups and lets the clink of china fill the awkward silence for a beat. ]

I find that residents of Trench have left behind rather unpleasant situations, more often than not. Perhaps the silver lining is that many have grand adventures to share, as well— or, to my particular benefit, a knowledge of tales and folklore unique to their homes. It does make for fascinating conversation, though I suppose the stories aren't always happy ones.