He gave her hand a shake, his grip steady and warm, palms as rough as hers, though the skin was far darker. A golden brown from all the time he'd spend in the sun, save for the pale scars, some very old, some rather fresh, between his fingers, across his knuckles.

"No," he said, rather flatly, exhaling a long breath as he released her. "No, I'm 'fraid not. On both counts."

He glanced at the Avox, now looking calm again that Sabriel had turned her attention elsewhere - now that she wasn't asking for something he couldn't give her - and then back at her.

"The Games - the fightin' - that's the biggest part, but they'll expect more of ya."