He watches that already slight figure sink deeper by the second, becoming little more than coiled shadow against a flickering backdrop of kindled flame.

“You went for the sake of someone you cared for.”

Though his voice remains evenly kept, still a tangle of subtle syllables and merciful pauses, there isn’t a touch of pity within the words themselves. He doesn’t sound as Jone did, cradling him to her shoulder; this is a matter of discussion between equals, and Gabranth seeks understanding— not platitudes.

He imagines Benedict knows it.

“Is that not the way of it?”