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"Now I can see why you didn't like camping." Her tone was amused, dryly so, really it was just the way she was.

She'd apparently been shown in by the housekeeper, as expected, and she didn't look quite as out of place as she could have.

Owen freezes, caught with his hand quite literally in the cookie jar.

"...Ah, well," he stammers, looking suitably abashed. "I've been spoiled, of course."

And there was an actual smile then, hands in her pockets just to keep from getting fingerprints on anything, she was like that, "Though it seems that you've learned foraging. That's a useful skill."

For as out of touch with things as she could be, she was still pretty sharp.

He laughs.

"Certainly. ...In a well-stocked, well-lighted, well-equipped kitchen, at least."

Having swiped a biscuit for himself, he holds out the tin.

"Biscuit?"

She smiled at that, accepting one to nibble at it as she answered: "You're aware of your surroundings and where to find food in them, that's an admirable survival trait." That was definitely a tease, though it was a good-natured one.

"Well, my mother has had this house all of my life, so if I couldn't find the food in here, it would be a pretty poor show."

It is not, however, somewhere he has lived all of his life, but he feels no need to point that out right now.

"How have you been finding the woods? No bears, presumably, but any wolves?"

"No bears." She agreed, "No wolves either. There was a fox this morning, scavenging the leftovers of my dinner." And if the fox was hungry enough to go after the entrails and the bones, she wasn't going to bother it, it needed them more than she did, "Lots of rabbits. A snake yesterday."

He makes a thoughtful sound at that.

"I don't see too many snakes, but they're harmless around here. So are the foxes, come to that." Not that she seemed remotely concerned by the presence of either. She really is quite a curious girl. "Would you like some tea, maybe another biscuit?"/

She smiled, "Tea would be nice, thank you." She'd settled into a lean against the counter, "Only have to worry about foxes if they're rabid, and snakes if they're venomous. The fox was just hungry and the snake was just a grass snake. A little one."

Owen sets about making tea, and despite the size of the kitchen, he seems pretty much at home there (so long as no one asks him to cook anything).

"I don't think you have to worry around here, although there is the occasional adder... But I think you're probably big enough to deal with those. If you do need any kind of assistance, though, you know where we are. Milk, sugar?"

She watched him move, gauging and calculating, the same as she always did, it had a tendency to unnerve some people, the intensity of that gaze, "Yes please." She replied to the question before answering the statement, "I do, now. And most snakes leave people alone, I wouldn't be in trouble unless I went looking for them."

Owen is fairly well used to intensity so it doesn't bother him any, although he can certainly feel the weight of her gaze and the depth of her scrutiny, and he wonders if she knows it tells an informed observant as much about her as it tells her about them.

He brings two cups of tea over to the table where a little silver sugar-bowl sits, then returns for the milk and biscuits.

"There we are. Sit, please."

She probably had some idea, she knew that the intent look put people on edge, the same way they got when faced with some kind of wild thing.

There was another smile then, padding over almost silently and settling in a chair, just holding the cup between both hands to warm her fingers for the moment.

Fortunately, Owen has experience with wild things.

Owen snags a biscuit from the table and takes a small bite, chewing thoughtfully.

"Would it be too personal to ask how old you are? I know you're never supposed to ask a lady her age, but hopefully, mother will never hear of it."

"Seventeen." She said without hesitation. She shrugged a moment later, stirring sugar and cream carefully into her tea, spoon tinking against the cup just once, "But most people think I am younger." And she never corrected them, not unless it was absolutely necessary.

He considers this for a long moment.

"I suppose that's old enough to be out in the world by yourself. Certainly it's considered adult in many cultures."

He sips his tea, thinking.

"...Did your father approve of your leaving?"

"He's dead." She replied, "Since last year, and it was my decision in the beginning, even when he was still alive, he made that clear."

He'd also warned her that nothing would be the same, though neither of them had known at the time just how different it would be.

"Ah," Owen says softly. It explains a lot, and yet... Not nearly enough. "He must have had a lot of faith in your ability to look after yourself, in that case."

She tilted her head, brow creasing slightly, "He ought to have had. He's the one who trained me. He knew when I was ready." Even though she'd insisted she was ready before he'd decided she was, she'd trusted his judgement right up until the end.