"The... the ravens, sir?" He asks, but he has heard, plainly. He only bides his time with another sip, and if the discomfort is born of what he knows, and what he has born witness to, or simply of fear of retaliation — perhaps he himself cannot say.

"They... you can't see any in the village. Or in the forest. I thought... used to wonder why, because folks like you come, from overseas. All the merchants. And they say, ravens go where people are." He seems to struggle with his words, shrugging impotently. "So, we didn't... understand why we have no ravens here, but then they tell us, ravens go where the dead are."

And now he's laughing, a victim of his own frenzy. "And that's why it's called the House of Ravens, isn't it? Hundreds of them. Makes... sense."