[ he's setting to fix her hair as he did for his son. hers is pitifully short, but he'll make do, reaching for his comb so he might put her to rights as elves do. she is a good child, a sweet girl, and she ought to have some of the comforts of her people. it's-- an intimacy he'll risk. these are his people, though they are elflings, and elflings should not go uncombed.

his hand stills just as he's setting the comb into her lovely red hair, because he's not sure he's heard correctly, but she clarifies and he sighs, long and slow. 'men are dumb and hairy' is a bad way to reply, so he goes for a bit more eloquence, starting to run the comb through her hair in the slow, unhurried manner of the sindar. hopefully he can loosen some of the tension in her shoulders-- she's admittedly clever, to try and hide her face from him. ]

Perhaps, my dear, there is a Man who would treat you kindly, and love you as you ought to be loved. But there will always be a canyon between you, child, a depth they [ look he learned something from cyril. ] could not ever hope to bridge, a lack of understanding in their eyes when you spoke of your Clan, of how Men treated you because of what you are. I have seen Men wed elves. The sharpest of the pains, the loss of a spouse who goes where you cannot follow is lessened here, but you still have that depth between you. A lack of understanding.