They were at the mouth of the Eluvian, just a short walk away from the Crossroads and the Fade, and Davrin paused there. It was a conversation about Lucanis, it should be up to him if it happened here or where the other members of their little group might pop in and interrupt at any moment. 'Mind your own business' was not a Lighthouse motto.

"You'd make a gods awful pet. But what do you call Spite ripping through Treviso? Looked pretty lost to me."

He didn't mean for it, but there's an edge of judgement there. Lucanis was too smart to be this stupid. He knew emotion, about Treviso, Spite, the past year, his past life, was messing with him. The same Davrin's own unsorted business with his family, the griffons, and the wardens messed with him from time to time, but to a larger degree given the sheer weight of what had become of Treviso. Understandable wasn't the same as acceptable, however. He'd laid his fingers over the wound that could have ended the man himself. Nothing about that was acceptable.