[We. Another victory for that powerful little word in Illarion's arsenal. He nods satisfaction with the newcomer's confidence, and gestures in the (rough) direction of the nearest door.]

Good. If you will find things, I am pleased to guard you. [Still no telling what had killed all those sailors.

Though, on that note, and before they depart--Illarion does collect a few more apples from the crate. Generous Night waits at the end of the month and they're a traditional gift, after all.]

You do not need worry for your memory, as I did not tell it to you--but you may choose what you like to call me. My people do not burden others with our names, on meeting.