Morningside Cuesta enter, pursued by a memory

His chin jerked up at her thanks, ostensibly in acknowledgement, although it looked almost like recoil. Persia was filled with the immovable certainty that he had given nothing the woman didn't deserve. Wasn't owed for the simple act of being born. He had never gone hungry before — his mother had neveret him. This meant that no one should go hungry, that it was a crime committed by someone and being thanked for this felt like being thanked for returning something he'd stolen from her.

This did not show on his dark face. His eyes flicked over her, searching. Eventually he said,

"Thank you. I will."

But he didn't yet. He stood there a moment longer, silent despite the way he was obviously thinking some very strong opinions.

"Show me where you stay," he said. "We can bring the rest. Drag it on the pelt."