Warmth suffuses the liquid darkness of his gaze when it turns back toward Bellisma. There is a shade of understanding, too, though Hé will not speak of it now (maybe never). He sees in her some shadow of the boy he used to be, a shadow of a shadow of that boy, a beautiful thing tarnished by misuse, a grand and vibrant thing made small. He wants so badly to inspire in her the warmth, the confidence, beating in his own heart. "I think so," he responds to her question, his tone mild. There are other things he might say — brighter things — but even thought, they ring insincere. So Hé opts for sincerity above all, hoping someday maybe she will see herself as he sees her, as others surely see her. There's potential there, the way potential lingers in the rosebush desecrated by flame, or by winter's hand. Potential is life. Potential is everything.

One ear cocks back in mild surprise at her second question. Hé hadn't expected to have it out in the open like that; had assumed her lack of social grace derived from some anxiety, rather than a learned behavior. And he wants to ask, oh, who — so he might remember them in the future. But he doesn't. He just smiles at her, and hopes she will forget them, whoever taught her that, in time. "Yes, of course! My friend, please, grace the world with the pleasure of your attention and I think we'll all be better off for it. You need bow to no one, here. You are as much a queen as any other in this meadow." Hé grins at her, half playful and yet entirely sincere. His attention shifts back to the area at large as he walks, expecting company though never demanding it, and he turns her next question over just a moment before answering, the noise of their footfalls quiet between them. It's a good sign, he thinks, that she asks so many questions. "Ashamin can explain the finer points of division of labor, but I'm sure you'll find no obligation to fulfill any duties you'd rather not."

A sound catches his attention then and his head snaps toward the orange figure working toward them like a lazy flame across the meadow. The face — the face draws his gaze immediately, white as a skull but more delicate. Hé nods, his eyes never falling, in response to her greeting. She was at the last gathering, surely, but he can't recall her name. He can't recall much aside from chaos, actually, and chooses to shake off the memory in favor of optimism. It's misplaced, perhaps, as the next words out of the half-stranger's mouth are unnecessarily cold. Really? Hé wants to say. This is how you treat newcomers? This is how you choose to represent yourself? Exasperation may be a long-term emotion for him here, in the wilds of this strange land, but he holds himself with poise, one ear tilting back toward Bellisma close at his side. He does not yet speak; catching Ashamin's approach, he waits for the leader to greet them, as well.

And hearing it, Hé sighs.

"We are of the Unbound," he tells Paradox — pleasantly but firmly. "I think I saw you at the last meeting, but I never caught your name. It's a pleasure — please call me Hé. And this is my new friend," he adds, with a gesture at Bellisma. Contemplating for a moment taking over the whole of her introduction, he leaves the naming of herself to her. It's important, Hé thinks, that he not speak over her — not crowd out the faint expression of self she's only just started to give him. Turning to Ashamin, Hé adds, "Good to see you again, Ashamin. I met her in the Threshold, like you met me. She'll make a good addition to the band, I think."