So many things he didn't know. Two or three hundred is childhood for Traces. Broken Souls are a thing, whatever that means. So many things Timber didn't tell him. He wonders if Timber even knew himself.

And when Fandaniel brings up his mother dying much earlier than she should, well... His face falls a little.

"Yea, it's okay... I wasn't lonely anymore when I found Timber and Dambi. So it was okay."

But his lips can't help but press into a thin line.

"Shikeo. I'm Shikeo." Since Fandaniel was kind enough to offer his name.

He makes mental note of the vinegar and using herbs. It all sounds like great advice. Timber just always used cigarettes, which he asked him time and again to stop smoking around Dambi. Herbs and vinegar sounds like a much safer, much more sane, option. He nods as he listens. And afterwards, he shifts his weight uncomfortably for a moment, looking for words.

"Look..." A pause, as he still tries to sort what he's trying to say. "I got off on the wrong foot. I'm so used to... things not being good when people smell me. I can cook. So how about I make you some potatoes... Popodoes? Afterwards."

Is that how he pronounces it? He's forgotten it already, but he's trying.

"Not like that!" Instantly shooting down that he's looking for a connection. "You know, just like... as a sorry. And a thank you."