[ It seems she’s tired enough to not press the matter... and too tired to hide her pained look behind a smile. ] Alright—... But I’ll go first.

[ So she begins to lead them through the shadowed hall, lifting a hand to ignite a small flame within her palm. It gives both light and is useful for disintegrating pesky vines that impede their path. ]

You still look ill, Tristan, even now. [ Weaker, somehow, and she knows the reason why. ]

Have... others been taking care of you, I hope?

[ Oh look, stairs. Wooden and rickety and creaking with each step they take. It smells of bird droppings and mold. Time to start climbing them. ]