"I'm sorry," he says, without any particular difficulty. Understanding when he's wrong is hard for him sometimes. Admitting it once he's realized it, less so. "You're right."

He puts his boot on the edge of his pot to tip it and check the contents. They're still distinguishable from each other instead of slop. It's not done yet.

"We could send someone to Kal'Hirol," he says. It's not a decision, just conversation. "Volunteers. No one who doesn't agree it's worth it."