Swift and sharp indeed -- Eleven has most certainly already got Archeval's number as the other man surreptitiously glances back to watch his progress here and there even now. At those words of gratitude, though, he just gives an awkward grimace and a little one-armed shrug. In better light and better circumstances at last, Eleven can finally see what he's looking at a little better -- a human like any he might find back home, dark hair, green eyes, a single little braid bumping against the side of one cheek. For all his talk of stars and planets, he looks remarkably ordinary.

"I believe I said before, I would hardly give our foe the satisfaction of letting anyone die out in that pit," he sniffs, affecting some kind of indignance as he scrapes at the last dregs of the meal in his bowl.

"And you more than did your part in turn. I suppose now the next order of business after some more rest is starting to figure out the whys and wherefores of this damnable place--..."

His eye seems caught by something as he speaks, though, and after a second he's peering straight over at that mark on the back of Eleven's hand.

"...Oh. Interesting. Was that there before you got here?"

He hadn't personally noticed any new and unwelcome marks on himself while he'd been bathing, but then it hadn't exactly occurred to him to look.