This is, for good or for ill, a fact she has already endured herself to. Indeed, she has supposed that was his intention—that she never be without some form of supervision, or defense, or whatever word along those lines is most convenient. Is that not what a mabari is meant to do?

So Wysteria, leaning hard to balance against the counter pressure of Ruadh doing the same against her leg, only rolls her eyes very slightly as she repeats back, "Bones, fish, eggs, livers," as if she might not recall it otherwise.

"I'm sure he will find it all quite dull, and will return to you incredibly spoiled by having done nothing but lay about in a workshop for months on end. Isn't that right?"

The big mabari with his patchwork of scars receives a thumping pat on the shoulder for emphasis.

"Is there nothing else?"