[he slows, frowning, to a stop. her bitter impatience tugs at a few of his own feelings, adding more questions on top of the one she's asked aloud.]

I've lived hundreds of years in unrest like this. [starting to move again.] As a refugee, having to move at the whims of wills with little regard for me. Save that I cease to exist. [looking at her with just the slightest turn of his head her way.] Which is what makes this so different in my eyes, despite how similar it all is.