[ "He sheds tears! Usul gives moisture to the dead!"

The shock the Fremen had for when he shed tears. Mourning for the dead in what they consider the traditional way is a waste to Fremen. A waste of the water in one's body. He mourned for his father in the tent in the desert with his mother... to a degree he felt his mind would let him. He missed all those they had before. He misses Caladan.

Water fat. That is what the Fremen call it. ]

I'm not even sure if this path is called an adventure. [ A shake of his head. ] It feels more like pulsing down a path with only destruction at it's end. No matter what choices I make or what deviations I try on the path.

A place to speak plainly. [ He blinks once, twice, then finally turns his gaze back to her. ] I would suggest a tent... but that's very forward. Especially a woman to is ward of my House, under my protection. The other option would be to wait until we reach Sietch Tabr.

[ Her next question simply causes the bravado to fall from his face. A tired man stares back at her. Not quite lost, but certainly unsure of what path to take. Someone who had lost much but still pushed forward. Forces nearly beyond comprehension.

Paul leans close to her, just a breath away. His voice lowers to a whisper. ] It's not as simple as "yes" or "no."