[The second Hector's hands land, gently manipulating skin and muscle, he questions why he agreed to this. To be fair, it's not unpleasant: the kneading and pressure are well-tolerated, a good sort of tingly soreness; but it's the ease with which Hector persists in helping unasked that's a hard thing to wrap his head around. A muscle flexes in his cheek, but he doesn't yank his foot away. Or offer it, either.]

You'd have made a passable servant in the castle, with your pretty mouth alone. [He muses, pointedly ignoring the question.] I have a little itch.

[It's his way of feeling out where Hector's boundaries lie while wondering what he gets out of this at all, what his angle is. There has to be something, his cynicism reminds him, or he wouldn't be so willing. If Hector looks like he's taken the hint and is moving to service him, he'll offer a stern, quiet 'no' and turn his hand or his face away in refusal, whichever is closest.]

I've heard rumours of new lands far to the West, over the water.

[Isaac says, eventually, not sounding particularly committed as he's never given the specifics serious thought. What other places may hold for him won't be much better, if at all, he suspects. But he'll settle for different, whatever that might look like. A new world and all its trappings, all its pleasures and disappointments.]