Numair's frown makes a slight shift into confused territory. He's been accused of obtuseness before, usually when he's absorbed in study, but he's reasonably certain he hasn't done anything to warrant this kind of reaction. Daine hasn't behaved this way since Carthak, when she thought he'd been executed. She can't possibly have gotten it into her head that he'd died again.

Kitten grips onto Daine's breeches and lets out a concerned run of burbly notes, and Numair digs a handkerchief out of his pocket. "Here," he offers, and Daine pulls back enough to take the scrap of cloth and obey his rather paternal, "blow." He keeps an arm curled around her, a little concerned by the way she's slumped against him, and uses his free hand to check his pocket for a vial of wakeflower, just in case.

"I'm sorry," Daine apologizes to the room at large, mopping the tears off her face. She hasn't missed the way he checked his pocket, and just the thought of him shoving that vial under her nose is enough incentive for her to pull herself together a little. "Numair, Kit, I've - we've been through something, me and Peeta, and it's going to sound mad, but I swear by the Goddess it's all true."

Numair gives her shoulder a little rub, then looks down his long nose at Peeta. "Well, I suppose you'd better come in and sit down," he says, not sounding especially enthusiastic about the idea. But if this 'Peeta' fellow plays a role in this ordeal that has Daine beside herself, he supposes it's better to keep the boy within easy reach.