“Why should the Sarrum of Amata remember you?” she asks, puzzled. She tugs at him, trying to coax him to at least lie down.
Begrudgingly Mordred obeys, lying down next to her. “Because not too long ago he put me to death for stealing, obviously I escaped.”
“Well, obviously. But — stealing, cariad?” It’s not entirely a judgment, more the confusion of someone who has never truly known want in her life.