Dreams. She had dreams that she shared with his father. Bryte had a strange feeling about that, it was like a shock from the inside. He kept himself collected, but it was with effort, and that effort showed. "Me was a good man," Bryte agreed, and sadness lit his eyes for a moment. No matter how well he restrained emotions on his face his eyes betrayed his true feelings. "I thank you for your words, and I hope he helped you in his time here. That was his real desire, you know. To help those who need it."
The required pleasantries done, Bryte pressed his lips into a thin line and drew in a deep breath. "Do you know the circumstances of his death?" It was a loaded question, and he was sure he should have worded it better, but Bryte had never been good at such things. The apple may have fallen far from the tree in that regard, but Bryte shared the same passionate conviction as his father, at least.
"My father was kind to me, too, but he did not always see things my way," he added as carefully as he was able. "He humored me so well that I did not realize he was chuckling at me until shortly before his death. You may find that I am more open to believing than my father was." It was his best attempt at opening the human connection, as delicate as the young man could be. There was a reason he and firearms got along so well, they both seemed to behave in a similar manner.