Yes, his heart. It was his own fault for wearing it so boldly on the outside like he did, making it far too easy for Cupid's arrows to take aim, and even easier for someone to take it and smash it before he'd even noticed, but it was repaired just as easily, pieced back together and mended with gold the way the Japanese did with their pottery, and all set to be broken again by the next person to come along. Sid nodded, grinning a little at her disbelief. "What else is there to write about or sing about than heartbreak and lost loves?" Except, maybe the Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. Gordon Lightfoot, now there was a bard.
That was not at all unusual or unexpected. The Fae really loved their homelands. Sid had personally spent long stretches of time there between jaunts around the world, but he tended to not be able to sit still for long. Hobs were better at that sort of thing than Satyrs though, which made sense. "Ah, well you're out and about now, aren't you? Nothing to stop you from becoming unsheltered?" It definitely seemed to be the right word, because he'd hardly describe any brand of Fae innocent. The Seelie might not steal babies, but they were wily in their own ways. And Hobs. Well. At the very least they drank like fish.
Sid polished off his drink, smacking his lips delightedly as she began to wax poetic about the house. "I'm not sure," he replied, completely honest in his lack of knowledge. "I've only been here six months. But anything this old is bound to absorb the magic of anyone who's feet have crossed the threshold, right?" It stood to reason.