Haleth listens as she works. Her hands are kept busy, and she rarely looks up from what she does, but that is entirely usual for her; there is no question that Canien has her attention. The truth of the story she hears is evidenced in a myriad of small details: Canien's familiarity with the village, with Haleth's own possessions, with personal details no one else could know about Haleth herself. Haleth hears how Canien was taught, how she grew, her independence, her skills.

How she was loved. By both her parents.

If it is difficult to hear, if Haleth is conflicted, there are only small indicators to suggest it: a certain tension in the back of her neck, fickers of her eyelids in reaction to certain small things, particularly wherever Caranthir is mentioned. But the questions she asks are, for now, questions of Canien herself, and not about either of her parents or their history.

By the time other half-elves have been brought into the story, Haleth is seated by the fire, stirring a hearty stew. The smell of it fills the room. "Had you been failing in your promise until that point, then?" She pulls out a ladelful, blows on it, tastes it, considers, and reaches for a small jar of herbs nearby, adding a few careful pinches. "How did they remind you? And what is the history of these other half-elves?"