The changing nature of the man in front of him doesn't concern him. Flickering from emotion to emotion, thought to thought, all shown clearly. Really, he wishes more people were so easy to read. So easy to reconcile the emotions he senses with what he sees and hears.

It's like getting something he never knew he wanted: Recognition from a fellow expert on dreams. From another scholar. From someone who understands. He feels sick with nervousness, and with something he doesn't quite recognise.

"What good is it?" A familiar pang of hurt thuds in his chest when he says it, but he swallows and meets Micolash's gaze searchingly. "I've always done searched in dreams for the love of it. Because it felt right, and good. A hiding place for secrets the conscious mind can't understand... But that's what everyone asks: What good is it?"

"Dreams don't mean much on my world. O-Or to the people here." He rubs a palm on his trousers. "There are no schools, o-or colleges, students o-or teachers..."

He takes a deep breath and his knotted brow twists with hopeful uncertainty. "Is there really so much you can achieve with dreams?"