[ He glances down at that slight pressure on his hand, taking in the way she's holding herself, the determination in her face that doesn't quite hide all the small hints of trepidation. She's so small; doesn't anyone here look after her? Is she an orphan, left alone and to her own devices?

He thinks of his apprentices, of Maelle, of Lumiere's many orphaned children, so many without foster homes of their own, and his bruised heart unfurls, warm and sympathetic. ]

My first time, yeah. We don't have anything... quite like them at home. And the things that are a little bit like them aren't very nice.

[ He gives her hand a little squeeze back, as reassuring as he can make it. Regardless of what she's said about protecting him, if anything tries to hurt her, he won't hesitate to step in its way. She isn't Maelle — Maelle isn't here, and he thinks... he hopes that's a good thing, better for her — but there's an aching emptiness in him that can't help but want to help her, protect her. ]

What's it like? Where you come from?