[ Another time, he might grin and run a suave hand through his hair in deliberate misunderstanding. But that other time he wouldn't already be busy looking at By, silent and still and focused while he considers the smile and the parry and the possibilities. Avoiding a traumatic memory, something sincerely horrible. Being bashful about bravery. Feeling not so much flattered as pressured to be that specific kind of brave.

It only lasts a couple seconds, though, and then Bastien smiles and tries not to be a dodgy hypocrite. ]

There was a mage in the house, when I was younger. He was very good at correcting mistakes. You can still sort of tell, if you know where—

[ He looks speculatively at his own torso, which aside from the hair is very smooth, with the pale or dark patches of old wounds invisible without sunlight and a very close look. But then he points toward his hip and thigh, obscured by the water. ]

That one was after he was gone. It's how I found out I was mortal.

Horrible.