That was an altogether less nerve-wracking train of thought, and Neffa warmed to it gratefully. This was more familiar territory. Talking about home-- that he could do with authority. He allowed the beginnings of a smile to return, carefully bright and full of memory.

"They don't seem to care much where we come from here," he said. "There's no harm in asking - it sets you apart from them." Thank you, he let the implication stand.

"I'm from a city called Ristopa. I've lived there all my life." It was too much to hope that she had heard of it; he didn't ask. "As large as this one, I think, but... not so tall. Built of bricks and stone, not of glass." Greener trees. Browner streets. Less crowded but more alive. "I never intended to leave it - there's rather less demand for magicians here, I've found, their games aside." The rueful twist to his mouth that thought brought with it wasn't an act.