It had been a long day. Conlan was still angry over the amount of good things he'd done recently. He'd saved the lives of several elves, turned over a house, gotten a man to reexamine his life choices. (Though that last one wasn't terrible,) Con half expected the Maker to strike him down any minute. Or more likely he visit some divine retribution on an innocent person somewhere. Maybe Ordhan, or Lalin, or the elves that were actually the focus of their mission.
"Ord, I'm not an elf charity. I'm not going to start handing over my possessions..." Conlan blinked and looked toward the older man. "... except the house.... and the healthy poultices... and a little bit of food." He turned around and moved toward the wall that separated the living space from the "bedroom."
"In any case I gave that stuff up because I couldn't carry it, not because they needed it. Plus most of the furniture is nailed down, so they get that anyways." He glanced around the room intently as he spoke.