He doesn't have many of these days. The peaceful ones, with not a thought of combat on his mind. The sun is warm on his hands as he twirls his hatchet, perusing the area for the materials requested of him. Had Yesha not invited him out here, perhaps he'd never have come.

The leaves rustle with the breeze, and spring is sweet on the air. Scone raises his eyebrows as the other miqo'te approaches, hands behind her back. To his surprise, she tucks a flower by his ear, with petals blue as the sky. Witty banter is abandoned, forgotten in a single moment as she smiles at him like that. In the way that makes him feel as though he belongs here, by her side, no matter what.

"But when met with an exceedingly talented and exceptional mage, some exceptions are unavoidable."

Gale's chuffed. He wears it plainly, too, for evidently, he's entirely incapable of anything less. Yet, it works for him, he'd confess to her, with his heart sat embroidered at the cuff of his sleeves. The hyur's always been honest, as bare as those books he would humor at night, but with their world so shadowed and terribly fogged? Well, perhaps, he gathers, some transparency's refreshing.

Besides, it's nice to hear her warmth, something hungry in his marrow giddying to her words when it longs to leap. Yesha's fought for too long, hurrying to and fro between spats and wars. It's difficult not to brighten, to peacock at the gentling at her obvious weariness. Offering her her meal, its delicious scent wanders. Affording her some comfort is all a gift.