The latest in the parade of perhapses, another swerve. Stephen casts him a sideways glance, put on doubt rife in the way it lingers. Playing, as much the citrus sharp edges of the majority of their conversations can be called good-humoured. At the end of the day, none of the answers to any of their questions are anyone's business but their own. And if the sweet and gradually dwindling offering he's busy picking pieces out of is the extent of Ralston's generosity for the morning, that's fine.

It's more than he was expecting.

"A few times." The first time almost entirely by accident. Subsequently, less so. "More, once things have settled down out here."

A whisper of intention, information. There to be plucked at or quietly ferreted away, a segment of something in return for one already chewed and swallowed.