She knows. But he was - is? - her friend, and she'd still have invited him. If he wants to know, she'll tell him the basics, and that she's happy.

"He's still educating the masses through poetry," she replies, head tilting. "So he's not doing too badly."

His smile draws forth her own, and she gestures an invitation to sit back down on the grass. Her skirt is charmed against dirt and stains, so she won't mind sitting with him under the tree.

"I can't help it. You're terrible at looking after yourself."