Hearing about his planet is an unexpected comfort, and she's surprised by how similar it sounds to her old home. All those myriad and marvelous ways a world can look like, and they both lived on a red planet under a red sky. She glances at him from beneath her hood while he speaks, wondering why he seems to reflect even her odd homesickness. Is it because he currently can't flit about the universe in his ship like he does in all the tales of his magnificent adventures? Or because of his troublesome relationship with his own species? Either way, she isn't sure if it's something she ought to ask about.

"I would have liked to have plants, I think," she says instead, pensively, thoughts on her own past once again. "The view grew a smidgen monotonous, at times. But I never tired of looking at the sky. The sun was so wild and beautiful, as though the entire firmament belonged to it." Sometimes she'd sit on the roof for hours, in the heat and the bright limitless space, drawing or writing until the sunlight made the paper brittle. A small sigh escapes her fangs. "It was lonely, but also peaceful."

Her foundation has taken on a round shape, and she gingerly smooths down the sides by running a claw around its circumference. Solemnly, she asks, "Do you visit sometimes?" She isn't sure if she would, if she ever had the opportunity, so perhaps his answer could serve as a guide for her.