At her comment, his smile would fade some, not disappearing, but more changing than anything else. It was softer now, the light of it brushed his eyes in a varied way. He had seen enough skirmish in his time as a knight thus far. The several battles that seemed to dwindle those around him like shadows slipping away into the praise of a luminous dawn. He hoped as much, that their finality came gently, he knew that those last few moments were often bound in violence and blood, in earthly decay and the taste of mud turbulent on their tongues. Copper and soil. They deserved such a genial welcome to the world beyond. May their suns never burn too bright, nor their nights be moonless and unholy, the prayer of the clerics would resound within his cerebrum in recollection as those that belonged to the church were read their final words. Words that may guide them beyond the portal between as their mortal vessels were lain to rest. May they take nourishment from The Light and cast back the mantle of sin to reveal the purity of their hearts. Their helms would be placed at their left, their weapons to their right in ceremony. So that they may continue to guide the brothers and sisters whom they have left behind. Then all would bow their heads. The choir would murmur sweet trills of melody while the priest issued his final blessings. Wives and children would weep. They would scream. They would mourn the creaking trellis as the pulleys lowered their beloved from them and into a different kind of embrace.

Then, faces would begin to disappear, to leave the site behind. Visitors would come less frequently until it was only those closest to them that intruded upon their solace. People like Sonata, devoted wife and mother, and people like him. Those who just couldn't let go quite so easily. He that dug his fingers into memories and refused to let them pass on so frivolously. Perhaps it was selfish, as the sisters would claim. Maybe it was a personal fault not to accept the end of life with rejoice that they were merely on to greener pastures. For he knew Cristoph well. He knew how much he spoke of his family, how he could have picked Sonata from a crowd merely because of all the stories he had heard of her.

In what world was he better without her?

“I will certainly keep that in mind.” He had to shake himself from his less than favorable musings. Her words pulling him from the thoughts and his focus back upon her. “Though I cannot help but feel that the sisters will use that as leverage.” He would incline his head faintly, his brow furrowing. "Leverage? Whatever for?" the rumble of his vocals was curious, his mouth angled in a downward slant at the imposition. “I know they gossip, as most would naturally I suppose. They find it concerning that I live alone, or think that I am to remain alone.” He would listen to her, expression further drawing. “So, I am hoping, since I provide private lessons for the Beleveron family whenever their current tutor is absent --  any compensation made will be towards these renovations. It is long needed but I must admit I hope it becomes their new spotlight.” At that, he would merely shake his head. "That is unacceptable, I'm afraid. I'll tell my mother and father right away. I'll make sure not to mention your name, so consider it as no personal favor. There will be no gossip over it, however, I would implore your aid in exchange, should you want. My mother often helps those suffering from the food shortage, I'm sure she'd enjoy the aid if you could help her in my stead." He knew from tales how stubborn the maiden could be, and as she was already denying the proffered hand, he could only assume she would not take it without giving something back. He also knew how hard times were for any, and he didn't consider the idea of her spending any extra income on the orphanage either. One never knew in the present what would happen next.

“But that is neither here nor there, how are your parents fairing these days? You mentioned a possible absence?” He would dip his head in an affirmative nod. "My old man is being as stubborn as ever and pushing himself far too hard. Ma's doing rather well though. She hates the circumstances, of course, but I believe she enjoys having him home. As for my absence," he would idly sweep the greenery of the knoll along the blanket. Plucking the tender stalk of a clover as a sigh left him. "The draft's been recalled to the barracks. I'll probably be leaving tonight or in the morning."

“Coen,” at the soft cadence of his name, he would once again give a boyish simper. A nod of encouragement. "Aye, that's fine by me." The words were spoken before he would graciously take the sandwich, and then a hearty bite from it.