Truer words, Wyatt suspects, have seldom been spoken in this here gilded cage. He has a bit of personal experience with the former, and a while there he gazed down the pitch black darkness of the latter and backed away slowly.

Maybe he was a bit crazy to start with. Maybe that's part of why he didn't snap, crack and disintegrate back in the early days.

Quiet and somber, he reaches into his bags from the bazaar, picking out the carefully wrapped bottle of spiced sweet wine and holds it out. "Get something to eat too, while you're at it. And-- If you ever need to bitch about this entire setup... Well. I've been there. Venting helps more than you'd think."