[ It's an answer that almost makes him feel guilty for asking, which is a nettlesome feeling in its own right. Before her, before all of this, he doesn't think he'd have thought twice about taking advantage of such an offer, such kindness. Why should he balk now? (The answer reveals itself easily enough: no one had offered him kindness before, not really. It's what makes him so inclined to follow her, even if he thinks her generosity is a danger to herself. Who else, after all, would keep an eye on the shadows behind her?)

In lieu of saying you didn't have to — because he will still feed on whatever Bosky ends up bringing back — he clicks his tongue, an only mildly reproachful tsk that travels between just the two of them as he comes to sit next to her by the campfire.

(It had been quite funny to see Gale so on the outs, if only because of the degree to which the wizard had been flabbergasted his usual charm had so utterly failed him — and to see stony anger manifested on Tav's usually soft features.) ]

Just because someone asks for a secret doesn't mean you have to tell them, [ he says, as though imparting some sage piece of wisdom. ] Well, except for me, I suppose. You must tell me.

[ He pauses, then, as he usually does when contemplating sharing even a shred of an earnest thought, the firelight dancing along the sharp edges of his face. ]

Go on, then. Ask me something in return.