Inric is writing when he realises he's being watched. He raises his head to see the dragon watching him. "Nazarchtharin." The dragon smiles and opens their hands in a generous gesture. "Please do continue, no need to stop on my account." They're speaking Rhydaben, for the benefit of Ffion, who is lurking just behind her employer. "It can wait," Inric says in the same language. "I came to tell you that Ffion and I will be absent for some time," Nazarchtharin says. "I see." "I left some chuckets in the store room pots," Ffion says, and Inric looks away, feeling oddly embarrassed to be so predictable. "Thank you."