He isn't entirely sure how he'd ended up here. He'd only made a periodic trip to the most inhabited village, and there's been light and warmth and someone inviting him in and now there's some kind of party and it's hitting him as he looks around, that he really doesn't remember how to do this. How to... be around people. In a non violent revenge-fuelled way.

There's swiftly a mug of tea pushed into his hands, and there's the sound of relaxed chatter. It would be cosy if it didn't make discomfort prickle down the back of his neck.

He drags himself back to the man who'd invited him in, focusing on the question. "Waffles. With fruit and syrup."