The heat of the furnace wasn't something Chaitivel ever thought he'd get used to. He almost preferred his singular experience in the Moor to this, even if it had been the most desolate place he'd ever ventured to. Though he had not been alone there, the gravity had felt crushing. So, surely, a return to a much more "lively" place should've been some sort of a reprieve.

Of course, it wasn't.

At least he wasn't alone. Though, the mare who accompanied him was... well. Rather lacking in the conversational aspect. It seemed that no matter what he did to try to get her to speak with him, she would respond solely with expressions and the occasional huff. By now, he'd accepted his mute companion, despite very much missing the comfort of chatter. At least he wasn't one to let the air sit dead, more than happy to fill the air with his own voice.

"-and then I asked him 'Is it truly an authentic?', because of course I had to make sure. Only the best for the apple of my eye, of course-"

Aeneid turns in the middle of his prattling and just looks at him.

"....................................What?"

He pauses, a bit taken aback. Though when she tilts her head just a bit, he gets the impression that she's trying to convey a sense of curiosity. Doing his best to interpret what her question could be, he answers with his best guess.

"Was it authentic? Sadly, no. But, it was a beautiful piece of jewelry nonetheless."

The way she rolled her eyes with some amusement indicated that hadn't been it. He makes a face, lowering his head down. "Oh, please! I'm not the best at guessing games. Can't you give me anything more to work with?"

The mare snorts, turning fully just to trot right up to him. She jabs his snout with her own, huffing a bit to accentuate the point. Chaitivel gasps, reeling back.

"Oh- oh no! Do I have something stuck in my teeth? Dear Gods, how long has it been there for? How bad is it? This isn't even the least bit presentable!" He whines, catastrophizing- his appearance was the one thing he truly had going for him, after all. Aeneid rolls her eyes yet again, shaking her head vigorously before bopping him once more with her snout.

"Wh- so, nothing in my teeth?"

Affirmative nod.

"So, what then?"

The moment he begins speaking, he receives another jab. Chaitivel takes another step back, thoroughly perplexed. What could this crazy mare possibly be on about? It didn't make sense. His brow furrows in concentration as he tries to figure this out. Something to do with his mouth, but not in the way he had initially interpreted it. He thinks back to that final bop, and a glint of realization shows in his eyes.

"My speech?"

Aeneid perks up, giving an enthusiastic nod. Deciding to do her best to give him even more to work with, she puffs out her chest in an almost mockery of the Knight himself and struts about, opening and closing her mouth in silent conversation. This receives a shocked gasp from the white Courser, but he can't help but be just a bit amused himself by the scene before him. Besides, it helped paint a clearer picture for what she had been asking.

"Why do I talk so much?" Upon receiving another confirmation, he falls quiet for a moment. Chaitivel doesn't seem particularly keen on this conversational topic now that it was properly thrust upon him, making a not particularly subtle show of looking off towards the side. He drags a hoof back against the ground with uncertainty, before he speaks once more.

"Well, it's... the silence, you know? I've never particularly enjoyed solitude. Talking gives me something to focus on, a bit of a sense of safety when we're in the depths of danger. Comfort isn't necessarily an abundant commodity."

He seems a bit ashamed to share with earnest, ears tilting back as he refuses to make eye contact. Admittedly, he expected ridicule. He understood how pathetic it could seem, lamenting about turmoil when this is the life that inherently called to them. There was an expected mental fortitude, especially where he had originally come from. Perhaps that's why he'd left to begin with.

To his shock, Aeneid instead steps closer and gives him a much more comforting gesture, rubbing her head against his neck. This was the opposite of what he had been expecting- she had embraced his reasoning with grace rather than rejecting him for weakness. With a soft smile upon his pale face, he nuzzles her back in turn, thankful for the solidarity she had given him. When she finally does step back, he feels even more steeled than he had been before.

"I'm guessing this is your go ahead to let me continue talking then, correct?"

The mare lets out an actual, properly amused "ha!", the closest to a laugh he'd heard from her beyond the occasional bemused snort. His smile grows wider, and as she turns back to continue, his trot has a bit of a spring to it.