He’s quiet while he thinks about it, gauging for the first time Derrica’s age in earnest through a study of her face, the finer skin around her eyes. Nothing about her previously has ever registered to him on a richter scale of potential disaster. A mage is a mage, a healer is a healer. She’s always seemed well in tune with her emotions.

A little too in tune with her empathy, perhaps.

Reassessment with this added knowledge makes him tired, settles at the bottom of his heart like a spill of silt heavy through the ventricles.

“What kinds of questions do you ask?”