He did now, didn't he? Eames wasn't overly fond of wildlife, fauna or flora. He lived comfortably in the glass house buried in the woods even if it wasn't his and there were such features as liberal amounts of hot water rainfall-style, and a sinfully comfortable bed under the eaves. Eames raised his face toward the branches and the canopy of the forest without either urging Jeremiah in deeper or keeping him on the fringe. He could take care of himself well enough, even in horrendously expensive cashmere, but he didn't long for the depths.
The man had a point. Eames had never quite become a local. It wasn't the accent, he could turn that on and off like a tap if he'd really chosen to. American, generic issue, something flat and nasally Eastern about it could work. He had passable German, good French and excellent Spanish but he wasn't a local. This place hadn't tied ribbons around his marrow yet.
"Long enough," Eames said, deliberately evasive and difficult. Simply because he could. "Not long enough to be a native. Why did you move, darling?"