Micolash's expression becomes one of slight, uncertain tension. Like a sour note was just tripped over unexpectedly in the conversation. The scholar's hand stops again, resting on Henry's soft back as he struggles to find an answer. His face twitches between a forced half-smile that looks more like a grimace and a look of closed-mouth concern.

"...I would rather. Not." Perhaps feeling elaboration is required, it's only a few seconds before Micolash adds, "I simply do not wish to further burden my caretaker with such matters. And thinking further upon it, coming to matters of me wishing to. Compile things, dictation is lacking because it invites questions. Or debate. Which results in valuable lost time and memory. There are nights I can feel the knowledge seeping out of me, like sand. Like water. Truths I'd learned in the Nightmare that I now cannot recall. It's dreadful."