Peter nodded. Nicolai had run. Running was what they did, as a people. As a family. It was the lesson his grandfather had taught him, and it had served him well. To run away from pain, from fear. Move on to the next. But when he couldn't run away from his own thoughts...what was he supposed to do?
Face his memories and his fears. Perhaps. But then, was that what Phaedra had done? He recognised that look. The desperate wish to forget.
"Not much," he admitted. "He only spoke about you once or twice, but..." he shrugged. "He was wary rather than afraid, I think. If you hadn't been upir he'd probably have tried to sleep with you." His stubble rasped against long nails as he scratched the line of his jaw, a faint smile on his face as he pictured Nicolai, gnarled hands folded over his stomach as he sat in front of the fire, beer by his elbow.