Humans were such limited creatures. Fragile. One could be fragile and resilient both. That was one of Burnie's creeds, perhaps his most irritating one: living instead of surviving. He knew it first-hand. Every trauma he survived made it that much harder to live. He spent years, a full half of his time in Myrken Wood, cut off from the very notion of introspection. He had spent the last few years trying to peel his own past, his own memories, his own failings and paltry triumphs apart. That wasn't awareness, however. Self-awareness was binary, and this Burnie, the one who had fallen through this series of worm-ridden holes, would never quite be able to reach it. With her help and with her harm, he was able to reach something meaningful, just there and just then. All banter aside, he would never be able to see how vain or desperate the comparisons to True Tom and his truths might be. In a sea of humans oppressed by gods and kings and fickle nature and apathetic death, Burnie took his own significance as a given; in his mind, any human who strived could accomplish anything at all. In standing against fate, he was as weighty and important as the notion of fate itself. Any human would be (the corollary of that, of course, was that any human that did not, was not; he only expected from everyone else what he exacted from himself: absolutely everything).
A thousand blushes when he was in the midst of his mania would not have mattered. One blush, one with clear eyes and a measured temperament, that was entirely different. It threatened to create a cycle that might drag him down into whatever came next. Hiding one's face? He didn't even know. Rarely did he ever make anyone blush and never did he blush himself. The moment had him frazzled enough that he could hardly remember how it happened and it happened just a few seconds before. It kept him quiet long enough for her to gain something of a minor advantage: he didn't question that she had no expectations.
Instead, as he gained control over his posture and as much colorization as one can master upon one's face (and she best not think that he didn't spend a few hours on one lazy Sunday fourteen autumns hence trying to do just that), he responded to her question directly. "First, we get through whatever got you and Benedict to this point. Then we untan..." his voice faded off as he gave her a curt shake of his head. "Still not fully to the other side; close, but not quite. Not untangle." After a breath, he tried again. "Then we work out what's happened to Catch, who he is now, who he is not, and what hold, willing or otherwise, he has over you. Following hat, we decide whether or not to suffer," literally as he well knew, "your Ainrid again in it's resolution, as, I reiterate and mean it as I say it, we work to help him through this, whatever it is, to an endpoint that we all agree is better." There were no fingers this time, just certitude and the smallest mercy that he had made that two sentences instead of just one. "Then we deal with my affliction. Then it can be archery and enjoyment of Myrken in ways I assure you that you haven't yet, and a mastery of inter-dimensional trade that neither of us have in but an academic sense. With stories and peace in the margins, though I refuse to promise you song, dance, or poetry." The smile now was a hardly wild thing, though it was certainly comfortable upon his face, matching eyes that might best be described as pleased. It was, fittingly enough, the smile a fox might make as it neared upon a henhouse containing months of treasured satisfaction. "We have quite a bit ahead of us, so it's good that we started immediately."
Which would lead them to her requests. The first was easy. "I came invited, as I insist, but by surprise. Do what you must. I'll wait patiently and maybe even ready you a few more chestnuts," spoken in the tone of someone who was not going to actually ready her any more chestnuts. The second? Benedict was his friend. He had few. She must have had a sense by now how far he'd go for them. Instead of speaking further, he shut his eyes, his mind churning in a far more controlled way than before when his mouth far outpaced it. His words came as he was already turning away, turning towards the raven's home. "The morning, then. You'll have your say first, Finn, your will shall be done, but if his words contradict yours to show you as capricious and cruel, I'll judge you all the more harshly for it, as I would judge any queen."