He wants to hug her. It wouldn't help. He watches quietly. 

It plays through the funeral and then drifts off to something vaguely sad-themed but dreamishly nonsensical.

Idaia's dreams are way less depressing. They--actually they sort of involve some of the sort of stuff that happened today but with less heroism.

He should probably not watch. She didn't have the 'private' qualifier, though. And. 

He is expecting Huan to question his judgment here but Huan has no comment. 

Not every dream she has that night is quite like that but there is also one involving biting into a bright purple wax lemon and having it dissolve into also-purple honey when her teeth break the skin and then things are sort of like the thing where she licked her fingers indecently earlier only moreso.

He reminds himself that he cannot actually list personality traits and is therefore not in love. Well, can't list personality traits beyond 'daring' and 'creative' and 'sad about her family being villified' and 'great sense of humor' and 'ridiculously forward'. That's not enough of them to be in love. 

Eventually she shifts and stretches and opens her eyes and sits up. Good morning. Or whatever you have instead of morning when it never gets dark out.

The concept's translating successfully. I can teach you Quenya if you want. 

That'd be nice.

So he grabs some rocks and starts going through it - "one rock. two rocks. my rock. your rock. This is my rock. This is your rock. That is her rock. I give her my rock. I give her your rock. I take your rock. I take my rock. I take your rock and my rock."

She nods. "I give you my rock, I give you her rock, I give you two rocks. I take her rock and my rock and your rock, I take...?"

"You take all the rocks! I take all the rocks. You take some of the rocks, she takes one of the rocks."

"One, two, all?"

"One, two, three! Four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, two-twelve, three-twelve, four-twelve."

She repeats the numbers in fascination. "You twelve? I and her ten."

Huh, really? I wonder why. "The Eldar count by twelves. Count - one, two, three. Three-Finwe is my brother, because my father is an idiot." He provides the osanwe translation of that, of course. 

"Ten--" she holds up her hands and wiggles her fingers. "Count on--" wiggles them again.

"Then I wonder why we didn't do that. Fingers. Toes."

"Ten fingers. My fingers, your fingers. You and I have--three-twelve and four fingers and toes?" she guesses.

"Yes! I got Huan when I was three-twelve years old."

"Got? When? Years? Old?"

I got Huan when I was thirty-six years old. 

"Three-twelves. Years, uh..." How many years old are you now?

Two hundred seventy? But our years might not be the same as yours. 

"I was--I have fifty-three years."