[Sheer stubborn will - if only to prove he isn't as weak to the chill as he is - is the answer; but even Isaac, at his fiercest, can only hold out so long and fail at a few more bare-handed attempts at trapping fish before he swallows his pride and wades back to shore, leaving Hector to finish on his own. He plucks his cloak from the heap of his clothes, briskly drying his hair with the inside and throwing it on before moving to sit on a flatter, sun-warmed rock, watching while he shivers. Spear-fishing could wait until he wasn't as miserable as a wet cat.]

Hell of a different sort, perhaps. [He wrinkles his nose.] Although were my travels to take me in that particular direction, I suppose I would stop to taste of those cheeses unique to the Greeks.

[There are few things he misses of the castle, but one is the easy access to foods and flavours he had never been exposed to otherwise, a privilege enjoyed after climbing the ranks and becoming someone of import. In some ways, he's a man of simple needs, and a fine cheese always paired well with wine and casual violence.]