[That is bizarrely small, for a tortoise. He decides that detail should not matter; this is clearly a case of two very different creatures. It is something to remind himself of -- that there was a world he was from, once. It was not this world. And it is different from another's.

Even if he can recall giant turtles here, too. One with a name... and a statue.

Dion thinks the memory is a quaint one. To recall something from this man's childhood that had no stakes; that, strangely, sounds like a fond one. To be among other children and to raise an animal... or attempt to.]

It must not have been memorable. [It is a light joking that could barely be called that. It is enough just to work through this breath and the next. This moment, strange as it is, is helping.] Yet you remember the turtle itself, and the experience around it. I suppose that's how I think of her, too.

[It all comes full circle. He sets his bag down, carefully placing a bite of the cake on his tongue. It's...

A bit overwhelming. Not in an unenjoyable way.]

I admit I have no talent in such things, but... would you like help, in some way?

[Something to do with his hands. That should make the next breath easier, too. It seems simpler that he does not mention he has never truly cooked in his life, nor baked, nor... decorated a fragile dessert.]