Inric sits down and takes a beancake, but before he can start eating an excited bouncing from behind announces Vincathaxis' arrival. "How many languages do you speak?" "Good morning, Vincathaxis." Inric takes a bite before continuing. "Twenty-seven fluently. Sixteen well enough to use." "Are they your hoard?" "Not in the sense that you use the word, no." Inric considers the young dragon, who is twisting their hands together and wearing an uncertain expression. "But you hoard knowledge, don't you? Anar Nazarchtharin told me." "That was a metaphor. I was trying to explain my interest in the magic of Rhydaber."