Handy tuned him out, using automatic responses at appropriate intervals. The two of them had their helmets off as they ate. Handy ordered his meat bloody raw, barely heated, much to his distaste, being a medium-to-well man himself. However, it was the least suspicious way of saying ‘Give me blood, damnit’. The consumption of the fluid the night before and whatever he had left in his system had been used entirely to heal his hand, leaving him uncomfortably aware of just how close many griffons’ arteries were for his easy access since he entered the town. It wasn’t bad, far from it, but he wasn’t daring to make the mistake of leaving it alone. The meat helped, partially, but he’d need to get something substantive soon.