He supposes he should have expected a question like that. He hadn't opted to go into it really, one nice thing about being trapped in Manhattan, other concerns become more distant in the shadow of a more pressing concern. Story of his life really. Her wonder at the sky is admirable, she would have enjoyed traveling so much, it's such a shame they're landbound now, he thinks for the millionth time. So much of her strange isolated upbringing remains a mystery, but everything he knows of it sounds regrettable. "Not in a very long time. There was...a war. My home was destroyed, and that was the end of it, I thought. It was just me and the TARDIS and the universe." He carefully navigates his part in any of that by avoiding it entirely. "But eventuality is negotiable, for Time Lords. Some of my species could be very resourceful," perhaps to a fault. "There was a possibility of going back, before the rift." Not that eventuality could be entirely negated, but the possibility, the search, had been bewilderingly real, ripping open everything. "I kept my visits to a minimum before that," he says dryly, to cover up something like the precursor to regret. Mostly that is the truth. He carries on making divots in the roof of a central edifice like nothing he'd said is of any importance. Perhaps the knowledge will help her adjust in some way. He can't imagine how, perhaps their shared outsider status will do the heavy lifting, there.