[ The sudden observation interrupted Aymeric's inspection of the artwork. He'd crossed his arms to lean closer to it, as if it were an old fresco; he'd doubted how fascinating it could have been, days ago, but now he had to admit to himself that he also liked it. The fanciful elements of the rescued merrow and the imagined glory of life at sea where pleasantly alien to him, even as the silvery-blue of his hair, so much more common in Ishgard than it was in Aefenglom, reminded him of home. No part of it sang the praises of saints or slayers; there was a joy for life and beauty—

He turned when Cain spoke, head tilted, waiting for more. He pretended not to notice the reverent way the man was handling the boxes, so inconsequential, the very least he could have done for an apology. ]

One is certainly anise.

[ He drifted closer, slow and leisurely, pressing the knuckle of his forefinger against his lip as he frowned. ]

The other is— sweet...some sort of pepper. Hells, I've forgotten. Sweet pepper, but there was another word. I suppose I ought to have asked him to write it down.

[ He raised his eyes from the little box to Cain's expression, watching him attentively. ]