[The weight of that hits him like a brick.] Shit. I'm... I'm sorry.

[What else can one say? He sees no reason to disbelieve her. That is where they come from, she and Julie? A plane nearly devoid of life? One percent... he's not even sure how many would be left.

A new weight to carry with him. He simply cannot imagine it. There had been a time where he was forced to make his way through villages struck by plague, only because the alternative was moving through the forest -- riddled with wargs -- or the bogs, where there were plenty more monsters ready to devour him. He remembers the silence of it, as if even birds would avoid the emptiness. Only a trace of boot and hoofprints in the dirt, fading with the wind.]

Unfortunately for you, the one thing I love most in this world is stories. And learning them. It's part of my being a bard. [His smile is soft, looking at her. This loneliness she carries with her must be an anchor, dragging in the dirt. That she is so different from their night together tells him a bit of what those herbs must have helped her with.]

I'll listen, if you want to tell it. It's your choice whether to keep your secrets. I enjoy your company, whether it remains a mystery or not.