[ He speaks prettily. That much Dany can grant him, but what she hears is poetic riddles without solutions. Dryly, she thinks that perhaps he is a god, after all. ] Then you know as little of ALASTAIR's whims as I do. [ She sounds disappointed; the thought is hardly comforting. Drogon hisses at the olive-clad arm, but makes no move to attack, temporarily sated by his food. A piece of bread is cast to the floor in favor of more meat. ]

I did not say I only trusted my eyes. [ A small sigh. She sounds sure in that, too. ] But you mean to grant me some wisdom, I believe. Very well. [ Drogon tosses a scrap of bacon into the air and catches it in his jaws, his long neck working as the feast is gulped down. ] What else must I trust?

[ The tone is authoritative still, more queen than girl, but beneath it, she's genuinely curious. The chill about her is fading, giving way to something that isn't yet friendly, but is more inviting. She has traveled quite a long way, and much as she's loath to admit it, she is lost. ]