She was indulging him in the lovely little story of peasant daydreamings as he extinguished the lamp and lowered himself to sit beside her. It was sweet enough of a story that Henry was even about to comment on it, except she was asking him a question. He had been fussing with the leather flagon of wine, so not really noticing if her expression changed at all, but the question seemed oddly out of place in relation to her story and the rest of their conversation.
Not entirely sure what she was referring to, he tipped his head toward her to inquire. “Mean what?” Then, with a gentle smile, he offered her the wine.