They hadn't even begun talking for real yet and Ciaran's expression already relayed how truly sorry he was. He always had been, even though he had made no attempts to rectify the situation, and now he was wondering whether several decades was too long a time for him to make amends. Cress' words, her concern veiled by her understandable anger, shot right to his heart and made it ache in ways that it hadn't for years.
Like a lost puppy, Ciaran followed Cress as she beckoned him to follow, careful not to step too close to her lest they touch. He remembered her gifts, what happened when anyone got too close, and he was mindful. "I might end up running from here depending on how well our conversation goes," he joked, his humour falling flat due to the seriousness of the situation. "But no. I'm not running from anyone, save maybe the past itself. I'm safe as houses and I'm okay."
Ciaran took the opportunity to look around at what was to be his new home as Cress led him through the grounds, though he forced himself not to get hung up on anything. There would be time enough to explore once he had no more reason to potentially fear for his life. "Still picking the same poisons?" he asked, eyes lingering on the bar as they entered one of the tents. Happy to be out of the glare, he waited for Cress to order drinks and lead them to a booth, following her lead with little thought, just as he had done so many years before.