He listens in silence; his stance shifts again, eyes closed rather than trained on the shard, the hand wrapped around that crystal now pressed to his forehead, elbow propped up upon knee. Sonder is not a word he knows, nor a realisation he is entirely ready to commit to, but perhaps there are the smallest of baby-steps being made in that direction.

There is a long pause (both to be certain she is done speaking, and to gather his own thoughts) before he speaks. In his mind, at least (perhaps not in hers?) they are back, once again, at the edge of the universe and the end of all things, simultaneously mere yalms apart and separated by an eternity, and it is the same weary melancholy which laces his tone.

"I had thought us one and the same, Beast, but that does a disservice to us both, does it not? Your capacity to care for every wretched creature that crosses your path, the affection with which you view their tedious trivialities, is..."

He trails off. Because that's the thing, isn't it? It simply Is, and that is revelation enough, and does not need to be cheapened with a poorly-picked adjective incapable of doing the thing justice.

Another pause. He clears his throat. "There is to be an excursion. Those Aions already ensconced here wish to show we new arrivals all that Achamoth has to offer. I had not intended going..." The but you would if you were here, wouldn't you? hangs unspoken.